Jailbird Blues
by Kittenshift17
Summary: Convicted of her crimes in the lead up to and during the war, Hermione Granger is carted off to serve life in Azkaban. Rubbing shoulders with her fellow convicts, Thorfinn Rowle, Antonin Dolohov and Rabastan Lestrange, Hermione does everything she can to hang onto her sanity, her dignity and her magic. Even caged birds sing. No matter how bad things look from behind bars.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I know, I know. Another new fic. I'm addicted. It's Canimal's fault this time. She infected me with a plunnie that wouldn't leave me alone when I first read her fic _Echoes of Silence_. After obtaining her blessing to run with it, here I am plying you with more Death Eater love! =) Special thanks to both Canimal and Freya Ishtar for all their love and support and encouragement. They keep me right on the train to keep these updates rolling out to all of you in a timely fashion. This one will be extremely different from A Promise Unspoken and from Splinter. It also won't be updated as frequently as either of the other two. But I hope you like it nonetheless.**

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 ** _ANNOUNCEMENT:_ ** Freya Ishtar, Canimal and I cordially invite all of you to join us aboard _The Death Eater Express_ \- a FB group we started where all things Death Eater related, sneak peeks at chapters, graphics and chapter announcements can be found.

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 **Warnings and Triggers: ** Dub-con, abuse, violence, humiliation, lack of privacy, obsessive behaviour, clinical doping, smut and sexual tension, blood magic and some squicky stuff.

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 **Jailbird Blues**

 _By Kittenshift17_

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 **Chapter 1**

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She was led before the full Wizengamot in chains. Her body shivered and trembled with the cold. Her prison robes hung from her half-starved frame, exposing her protruding clavicles to the cool air of the courtroom. Her hair was damp and matted, a tangled mess of curls tormented by the never-ending wind blowing into her cell off the freezing North Sea. Her skin was grimy and unwashed; she bore the fading reminders of all she had survived and she was sure she had an infection in one of the cuts one her arm where Bellatrix Lestrange had taken to her with a cursed dagger.

The Courtroom was alive with whispers as the latest in a long line of prisoners was retrieved from Azkaban and dragged before the court for trial. In the aftermath of the final battle the Ministry had been indiscriminate in its arrest of all the combatants who'd fought during the Battle of Hogwarts. Students, teachers, Death Eaters, Order of the Phoenix Members; all of them had been clapped in irons and hauled off to Azkaban to await trial. The deaths of Harry Potter and Tom Riddle had hit the wizarding community hard, a dizzying blow that had left them all reeling and in a state of confusion.

Amid the chaos, it had made more sense to simply arrest everyone and sort out who was who later on. Hermione Granger had been certain that when she was recognised, she would be set free. She had been certain that the prisoners who'd been rounded up – including many wounded in battle – would at least be given access to decent drinking water, food and medical treatment to ensure they didn't die before their guilt or innocence could be determined.

She hadn't counted on the fact that somehow, slippery snake of a woman that she was, Dolores Jane Umbridge, former Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, would be in charge of her trial. She was in charge of everyone's trials, Hermione knew. Ron's trial had been yesterday. Ginny's the day before that. Both of them had been set free, cleared of all charges by overwhelming vote for the negative upon call for conviction. Umbridge had apparently tried hard to ensure both former students of hers had remained in custody.

However, Ginny's presence at Hogwarts throughout the war while Ron, Hermione and Harry had all been on the run had afforded her an alibi for much of her whereabouts during the war. It was well-known that she had been at school and that she had rebelled against Snape's authority, but that worked in her favour. Similarly, the cover-story Ron had concocted for himself – that he'd been suffering from a nasty case of Spattergroit and confined to his bed for much of the year – had seen him freed. Ministry records showed that Ronald Bilius Weasley had been bed-ridden for months.

Ron and Ginny had both been acquitted.

Hermione, on the other hand, was not looking forward to all she expected would be thrown at her. It was no secret that throughout her career at Hogwarts and the subsequent year she'd spent on the run with Harry, Hermione had done many illegal things.

"Hermione Jean Granger?" Dolores Umbridge simpered from the lectern where she stood, prosecuting the case with a wretched gloating smile affixed to her wide, toad-like mouth.

"Dolores Jane Umbridge?" Hermione retorted in her best snarky tone.

She might be half-starved, cold, hungry, tired and battered by the grief of so many people lost during the war, but she was far from broken and she refused to let this vile excuse for a human being see her weaknesses.

"Miss Granger, are you aware why you have been brought before the Ministry today?" Umbridge asked in her disgusting simper that so made Hermione's skin crawl.

"Because you are all inept at your jobs and have seen fit to arrest most of the people responsible for Voldemort's defeat?" Hermione asked, one eyebrow raised sardonically.

A mutter swept through the Wizengamot at her words. It had been all over the papers that war-heroes and criminals alike had all been hauled off to prison. The wizarding populous of Britain was outraged that their children, their friends and their saviours had been rounded up and thrown in prison. The guards of Azkaban – those few Aurors who'd just been doing their job, no matter how distasteful it might be – had kept the Order members and Death Eaters alike fully informed. They might not have been able to give food or any better warmth than some mediocre warming charms, but they'd kept the prisoners up to date on real world events.

Including the outrage of the public over the incarcerations. Many were angry and most of the trials that had taken place were rushed ahead by families screaming for blood feuds if their children weren't released. As a result, Hermione's own trial was one of the last pertaining to those amid the Order. The Weasley's had all been locked up along with her, including Percy, and so there had been no one to screech for her release until Arthur, Bill, Percy and Charlie had all been released. Molly was serving a short sentence for the well-known murder of Bellatrix Lestrange – though it was taking place upon a hospital words after the woman had fallen ill inside Azkaban.

Hermione's was the last on the long list of Order members being tried and unfortunately, not all of them had been lucky enough to be acquitted. Neville Longbottom had been sentenced to life in Azkaban for the murder of no less than five hundred and fourteen people – the tallied death toll of all who'd been destroyed in the blast of the bridge on the grounds. Seamus had been similarly sentenced as he'd been the one to set the explosions in the first place. They had both been escorted to the maximum security floors of the prison and left to rot despite the arguments from families.

Kingsley had been given ten years for using his position as an Auror to leak information to the Order, for the use of the Imperius Curse and the Killing Curse upon Death Eaters and Snatchers. He'd been stripped of his badge and his rank amid the Auror Guard and given a dis-honourable discharge from the service.

The Ministry, clearly under the influence of Umbridge, had been prosecuting everyone to the fullest extent of the law and it did not bode well for Hermione that she had no fall-back story like Ron did. Their actions during the war meant nothing unless they could be proven necessary in the eyes of the law. The destruction of the Horcruxes was not widely known and so no one really knew what Hermione had been up to, outside of her crimes. And they were many. Hermione had been counting them in her head to help pass the time while she'd been sitting in her cell in Azkaban alongside Hannah Abbott, Luna Lovegood and – up until yesterday – Ginny Weasley.

Hannah had been freed from prison and acquitted of any crime when no definitive proof suggested she'd had any hand in crime outside of rebelling at school under Snape's tyranny. Luna had been another story entirely. The vague blonde witch had been questioned at length about where she had been, why she wasn't at school and what she'd been doing. Mr Ollivander had spoken for her, claiming they had both been held in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. Even the Malfoy's had been hauled out of prison and questioned on the matter – something all three of them had later been prosecuted for.

Lucius and Draco were both serving life sentences – as seemed to be the trend for any Marked Death Eater. Any who bore the Dark Mark were immediately remanded back to Azkaban, no matter the severity of their crimes. Draco's inactivity as a Death Eater, his being underage at the time of being Marked and his father's argument that he'd forced Draco into it had fallen on deaf ears at the Ministry and not even all of the Malfoy's money could save either of them from prison.

"You are here, Miss Granger, because you are a criminal," Umbridge corrected her, that wretched mouth stretching into an even wider smile at Hermione's sass, "Shall we begin listing the charges?"

"Oh, please do," Hermione replied, "Tell me what my hand in saving the wizarding world from a megalomaniac's tyranny is worth in comparison to my apparent crimes, Dolores."

The Wizengamot muttered amongst themselves again and Hermione got the feeling they were unused to such snarky trial subjects. After all, everyone else was protesting their innocence and screaming for release. Hermione herself didn't have high hopes.

"You are a muggleborn, Miss Granger, is that correct?" Umbridge asked.

"I am," Hermione replied nodding her head.

"Yet you did not present yourself to the Ministry for questioning when summoned, Miss Granger. All muggleborns were required to do so. You were issued several warnings by owl, all of which went unanswered. When your refusal to appear before the Wizengamot continued, a warrant was issued for your arrest. Were you aware of that?" Umbridge asked.

"Yes, Merlin forbid I resist willingly surrendering myself to Voldemort's clutches," Hermione retorted, rolling her eyes, "Tell me, Dolores, has anyone checked your forearm for a Dark Mark? I feel certain that were they to do so, they would find you branded."

"This trial does not pertain to me, but to you, Miss Granger," Umbridge snapped, her beady little eyes narrowing, "You will restrict your answers only to the questions put to you or you will be remanded back to Azkaban immediately."

"A touchy subject then?" Hermione smirked at the witch, "Do go on, Dolores. What else am I being charged with?"

"You are a member of the Order of the Phoenix, is that correct?" the witch asked, her horrid, shit-eating grin returning at Hermione's cheek.

"I am," Hermione nodded, "You'll notice, of course that were it not for the Order, you'd all still be pushing papers, prosecuting muggleborns as thieves of magic and otherwise living in terror, yes?"

"Miss Granger, I will not warn you again about conduct within this courtroom," Umbridge replied, "During your membership of the Order of the Phoenix, you and Harry Potter resisted arrest, committed terrorist acts by breaking into Gringotts bank, used the Imperius curse upon goblins and wizards, used illegally obtained Polyjuice potion to impersonate persons now-deceased, entered a vault you were not permitted access to, stole from that vault, stole the Ukranian Ironbelly dragon residing within the bank as a security measure, broke back out of the bank and went on the run, isn't that correct?"

Hermione sighed, watching the way the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot began to look condemning of her actions.

"That's correct. I impersonated Bellatrix Lestrange, broke into her vault and stolen the cup of Helga Hufflepuff – an object that Voldemort has used to create one of seven Horcruxes," Hermione replied evenly.

"You also admit to the theft and destruction of priceless wizarding artefacts?" Umbride asked, looking gleeful.

"I admit to destroying Horcruxes. The objects were already desecrated and destroyed by the time Harry and I got to them," Hermione retorted, being careful to leave all mention of Ron out of it, lest the bitch use the information to recall him for further prosecution.

"Whilst on the run you also assaulted Mafalda Hopkirk, impersonated her and used Polyjuice potion to enter the Ministry, isn't that correct?" Umbridge demanded.

"I did," Hermione nodded, "We needed to enter the Ministry undetected to retrieve another Horcrux. One, incidentally, _Dolores_ , that was hanging around your flabby neck. Tell me, are we to believe that you weren't a Marked Death Eater and in league with Voldemort when you were boldly wearing a piece of his soul conceal in the locket of Salazar Slytherin right around your neck? One, I might add, that you unlawfully confiscated from Mundungus Fletcher in Diagon Alley and passed off with lies about it being family heirloom. Lies, Dolores, are not to be tolerated within the Ministry, isn't _that_ correct?"

Umbridge looked scandalized when many people within the Wizengamot began to look at her, clearly remembering the incident Hermione spoke of, and the locket Umbridge had worn. Hermione had no idea how the bitch wasn't on trial herself, given that she'd been prosecuting muggleborns for the apparent _theft_ of magic. It was clear many of her colleagues disliked her.

"Again, Miss Granger, we are here prosecuting you. If you do not limit your answers to the questions asked of you, you will be _dealt with_ accordingly," Umbridge threatened, her eyes narrowing again.

"More defensive behaviour when asked uncomfortable questions, Dolores," Hermione clucked her tongue, being sure to make it sound like centaur's hooves upon the stone floor and enjoying the way the bitch twitched, "I think the Wizengamot ought to be looking very inquisitively in your direction, Umbridge."

"ENOUGH!" Umbridge hissed when Hermione clicked her tongue again.

"Actually, I'm far from through," Hermione replied calmly, "While we're at it, why don't we have a discussion about your use of illegal Blood-Quills upon students during your teaching career, Dolores? What was that phrase you were so fond of having use all write? _I must not tell lies_. Wasn't that it? Are you aware, Dolores, that the use of Blood Quills was outlawed in 1495? Punishable by up to ten years in prison and on par with using the Imperius curse upon a person? Blood magic, Dolores, is a nasty business, wouldn't you, agree?"

"If you don't hold your tongue, you wretched little bitch," Umbridge snarled, "I will have it pulled from your head."

"Madame Umbridge!" calls shock issued from around the room.

"Hem, hem," Dolores feigned a cough.

"Oh dear, Dolores," Hermione smirked, "It seems you've rather tipped your hand here. A conflict of interests and a personal feud between you and I certainly does put something of a damper on you trying my case, doesn't it? One might go so far as to say you've a vendetta against me. How am I to be guaranteed a fair trial when you personally would like to wring my neck for handing you over to a herd of enraged centaurs, _Madame Umbridge_?"

"Is this true, Dolores? You've a vendetta against Miss Granger?" a member of the Wizengamot asked.

"My personal feelings regarding the witch have no bearing on the crimes she has committed, though I will, _Miss Granger,_ be adding assault of Ministry officials – Mafalda Hopkirk _and_ Dolores Umbridge – to your list of crimes. Shall we move on to the more serious charges? You, Miss Granger, are accused of the murder of Gerard Selwyn, Angus Hastings, Camilla Bulstrode and Fenrir Greyback. You are further accused of assaulting Lysander Yaxley, Barnabus Scabior, Narcissa Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and Albert Runcorn. You have admitted to the robbery of Gringotts bank, illegal possession and use of Polyjuice potion and resisting arrest. Tell me, Miss Granger, are there any other crimes you would like to confess to at this time? Keep in mind that any other crimes committed by you that you attempt to conceal from this court will be uncovered and lying to us will see you further prosecuted.

"You've evidence for my murdering people, do you?" Hermione challenged, raising both eyebrows in surprise to hear she was being charged with murder.

"We have several eye-witness accounts, combined with the use of Prior Incantatum upon your wand. Did you know, Miss Granger, that the charm causes the spectral forms of any person you have murdered with that wand to erupt?" Umbridge asked condescendingly.

"As my school records can attest, Dolores, I am extremely well-educated, so yes, I was aware of that effect pertaining to Priori Incantatum. Given your own records and your teaching career, I do find myself surprised to learn you know about… well, anything at all really," Hermione replied coldly.

She could see that the eyes of the Wizengamot were hardening. They would convict her. They weren't going easy on murderers unless there was proof that the lives had been taken in self-defence. And most of hers had been committed during the Final Battle, where she had gotten the drop on her opponents or been duelling with them. Meaning they had been done without too much of a fight against her or threat to her. Unless you counted the part where the others were on the team trying to kill her and her friends.

A few Wizengamot coughed to cover their snickers over her remark, but many more looked stern about her cheek. Hermione felt a sinking feeling in her gut. She wasn't going to be set free. Even if she was to argue Umbridge's grudge against her, and even if she tried to say it had all been for the greater good, Hermione suspected she was on her way back to Azkaban tonight.

And if she was going to go, Hermione was taking the pink, wretch toad of a witch down with her.

"How do you plead, Miss Granger?" Umbridge demanded.

"Guilty," Hermione sighed, "Though I do have a few more crimes you ought to take into consideration while deliberating over my sentence."

"Oh?" brows rose around the room at her words.

She might have been relieved of her wand at the time of her incarceration, but the Wizemgamot had down something very foolish when they had clapped her in chains and left her to rot in a cell for weeks. When they had refused her medical treatment, they had made a grave error. One Dolores Umbridge would pay for. Closing her eyes for a moment, Hermione twisted both her wrists in their chains, causing the torn, chaffed skin to tear anew. She bit down hard on the cuts up her lip until blood flowed free.

" _Debita Petere Sanguinem,_ Dolores Janes Umbridge," Hermione snarled, allowing the magic within her body to flare, calling upon ancient blood magic she'd read about in the book pertaining to Horcruxes Dumbeldore had given her.

Umbridge began to scream, her hands splitting open upon the lectern and blood pouring from them. As it poured free, the blood magic Hermione had summoned ripped that blood up and upon the dusty courtroom floor, in large, crimson letters, the blood of many began scrawling words against the stone.

 _'_ _I must not tell lies',_ slithered across the floor in Umbridge's blood much larger than what she'd made Harry write.

 _'_ _I must remember my place',_ followed – the words the evil toad had demanded Hermione herself and many other muggleborn students should write.

 _Discord is not permitted at Hogwarts_ scrawled across the floor, words Hermione had seen scarred on the back of Fred and George Weasley's hands.

"What is going on?" Wizengmaot members shouted, as slowly, the blood pouring from Umbridge began to pour into other shapes. Many more sentences scrawled on the stone before shapes before to form instead. Images of wolves, centaurs, mermaids, goblins and elves all smeared across the stones.

Lives she was responsible for ruining. Blood she had cost creatures and people with her prejudice and her reforms and her legislations.

"What have you done?" Umbridge was screaming, the blood slowly draining from her body.

"I have called in the debt of those whose blood you owe, Dolores," Hermione told the witch, "Every life you have stolen is depicted there in that blood. The words are those you forced innocent children to write in their own blood upon parchment with you barbaric quill at Hogwarts. Every full shape is a life you have ever with your cruelty. Every sentence is one you solicited from another in blood."

"She'll die!"

"She's going to pass out!"

"What do we do?"

The Ministry fell into chaos as the witch in question continued to bleed, more and more blood ripped from her body until she did indeed lose consciousness and slump over her lectern. They all looked at a loss over what to do. Blood magic could not simply be ended the way a regular spell could. There was not Finite Incantatum to cease the spell. Once activated, the only way for the spell to end was for it to run its course. Umbridge would bleed until her debt was paid, or until all the blood in the victim's body was bled dry.

Umbridge's foul existence looked like it was going to result in the latter.

The Wizengamot seemed at a loss of what to do. Most were beyond horrified by the grisly sight of all the blood arranging itself in patterns upon the courtroom floor. Others didn't seem to understand what she'd done or how she'd activated the magic without a wand. Hermione herself sat chained to her chained, staring at the slumped, unconscious form of Dolores Umbridge where she had fallen against her lectern. A black, inky stain was spreading down the length of one of her pink sleeves from the inkwell she'd knocked on its side as she fallen.

"Is she dead?" someone asked several minutes later when, finally, the bloody patterns upon the floor stopped.

"I can't feel a pulse," a clerk commented, pressing fingers to Umbridge flabby neck.

"Of course you can't feel a bloody pulse, most of her blood is arranged on the courtroom floor!" someone called, "Is she breathing?"

Hermione looked on at the ensuing chaos, cursing to herself to learn that for the time being, Umbridge was still alive. Aurors were called into the room, though they seemed unsure what to do since subduing her was rather pointless. Hermione hadn't actually moved in her chains other than to shift her wrists against her manacles. There was blood on her mouth from the way she'd bitten her lip, furthering the split thanks to the wide grin upon her face.

People were panicking, alarmed by the blood magic, alarmed by the idea of a wandless prisoner performing such magic right there in the courtroom. Others were trying to figure out how to help Umbridge and she was eventually carried away on a stretcher my medical staff, bound for St. Mungo's.

"Miss Granger, you were responsible for the attempt on Madame Umbridge's life just now, is that correct?" a stern looking wizard with shrewd eyes stepped into Umbridge's place, calling for order and settling the court once more.

"All I did was activate the spell," Hermione shrugged, "The Powers that Be did the rest. It seems Madame Umbridge owed rather a lot of blood debts."

She couldn't hide her smirk as she spoke through bloodied lips.

"You realise that this attempt on Madame Umbridge's life, in correlation with your other crimes will buy you a life sentence to Azkaban, don't you, Miss Granger?" the wizard asked, looking rather baffled by her triumph.

"I was already bound for Azkaban. If there was a chance to take that wretched whore out with me, I had to take it," Hermione replied evenly, "I assume that you still need to put the decision to a vote?"

"Hermione Granger, you have pleaded guilty to murder. You have pleaded guilty to grievous bodily assault on Ministry staff. You have pleaded guilty to terrorist activity resulting in a bank robbery, commandeering of a Gringotts dragon, illegal use of polyjuice potion and fraud through the impersonation of Ministry officials. You have pleaded guilty to resisting arrest whilst being fully aware that there was a Ministry-issued warrant out for you. You have admitted to destroying important historical artefacts. You have pleaded guilty to the use of Unforgiveable curses and you have practiced blood magic in full view of the entire Wizengamot," the wizard listed her crimes, "Do you have anything to offer in your defence?"

"We were at war," Hermione shrugged her shoulders, "Horcruxes containing pieces of Voldemort's soul needed to be found and destroyed. I killed people during the battle at Hogwarts in defence of my own life and the lives of others. I simply did what I had to in order to survive long enough to see Harry defeat Tom Riddle once and for all."

"Very well, at this time the Wizengmot will put the case to a…." the man was interrupted before he could say the word vote when the door to the courtroom was thrown open.

"Add to her charges the wilful murder of Dolores Umbridge," Auror Proudfoot stated as he entered the room in long stride, "She died before they could get her to the hospital."

The whole courtroom fell silent in shock and horror over the idea, though Hermione noticed that more than a few of them looked rather glad to be rid of the bitch.

"Very well, Miss Granger you are charged with five counts of murder, six counts of grievous bodily assault, Grand theft, and desecration of historic magical artefacts, resisting arrest and possession of banned substances. In addition to that, you have performed illegal and highly dangerous blood magic without authorisation. You have confessed to these crimes and have offered no legal defence. At this time the Wizengamot will take a vote," the man informed her before turning his attention to the gathered members.

"Those is favour of convicting the accused of all charges?" he asked.

Hermione looked around the room, watching the way a number of hands shot up. She tried to tally them quickly with her eyes.

"Those in favour of acquittal?" the wizard asked, having voted to convict her.

Less hands went up that time.

"Help save the wizarding world from a psychopathic tyrant and this is the thanks I get? Delightful," Hermione scoffed, "Never mind that I nearly died a number of times trying to make sure Voldemort would be vanquished for good. Never mind that I only killed in self-defence and defence of others. Excluding Umbridge, obviously. But come on, that bitch needed to die. She's ruined more lives that even Voldemort did."

"Hermione Jean Granger, you are hereby convicted on all charges and sentenced to life in Azkaban prison, pending your health examination and any actionable circumstances that will see you spared from your sentence for a time," the wizard declared, banging his gavel.

Her heart constricted inside her chest. She'd known it was coming, but the fear of spending her life behind bars terrified her nonetheless.

"Aurors, escort Miss Granger to the criminal section of the St. Mungo's. See to it that she is sedated. Her wandless magic is still actionable," the wizard ordered.

Hermione recoiled when Auror Proudfoot and Auror Entwhistle came forward, collecting her in her chains and dragging her from the courtroom. She was led away through the main entrance where, beyond the doors, the reporters and the crowds eagerly awaited the fate of Hermione Granger and the result of her trial.

Hermione glared hatefully as the reporters began to scream their questions and snap their pictures. She spotted Ron and Ginny both in the crowd, jostling, trying to get to her. Trying to save her from her fate. Too bad there was nothing they could do for her now. Not where she was going. Like Neville and Seamus and countless wretched Death Eaters before her, Hermione would be carted off the Azkaban for the rest of her life.

Didn't that just sound delightful?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Ahhh, the sweet and delcious hatred of Umbridge lifts my spirits. Thanks ever so much to all of you sweet and fabulous darlings who take the time to comment when you read. Your kind words are the only praise I get for the effort that goes into these chapters and stories. Your words of encouragement mean the world to me and really do make me write faster. Much love! xx-Kitten**

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 **Jailbird Blues**

 _By Kittenshift17_

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 **Chapter 2**

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"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione exclaimed when she was hauled into the examination room at the hospital, still being forcibly escorted by Aurors Proudfoot and Entwhistle.

The Hogwarts medi-wtich looked up from the chart she was reading with a wide smile of greeting.

"Hello, Hermione," the matron greeted her kindly, "That will be all, gentleman. I can take it from here."

"Begging your pardon, ma'am," Proudfoot argued, "But she's a lifer who just committed murder in front of the entire Wizengamot. I can't leave you unprotected."

"Percival Proudfoot, this girl has been my charge since she was eleven years old and would never harm a single hair on my head," Madame Pomfrey retorted, narrowing her eyes dangerously on the wizard, "You two will exit this examination room right this minute or I will personally see to it that your mother's hear you've been interfering with hospital matters."

Hermione smiled widely when both Aurors paled at her sharp tone and her threat to tell their mothers on them.

"We'll be right outside the door Ma'am. If you need us, you just call out," Entwhistle offered graciously and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Ma'am, I must insist. She's dangerous and unhinged. She performed blood magic in the courtroom – without a wand."

"She's one of my children and she would never harm me. Hermione Granger would never harm a member of the esteemed Hogwarts staff."

"She just brutally murdered Madame Umbridge, a former colleague of yours, Poppy," Proudfoot argued with the witch further.

Hermione's smile widened even more when Madam Pomfrey actually laughed as though he'd told a joke.

"Oh, you delightful girl," the witch said, moving forward to cup Hermione's grimy cheek affectionately, "Now then, Percy. Had you been paying attention, you'd have noticed I said 'esteemed' members of staff. That wretched cow was nothing more than a vapid imposter who deserved whatever my dear child did to her."

"You're a medicine woman! How can you show such disregard for human life?" Proudfoot argued with the witch and Hermione got the feeling there was some unresolved sexual tension between the Auror and the Healer.

"Human life is sacred. I am not, however, convinced that Dolores Umbridge was human. In fact I'm rather inclined to believe she was a particularly nasty breed of enlarged and poisonous toad. Now get out of my hospital room before I smack you," Madame Pomfrey hissed at the man, shooing him forcefully and going so far as to shove him right out the door.

The man continued to protest leaving her alone with a homicidal teenager right up until Madame Pomfrey closed the door in his face.

"I think he's rather protective of you, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione smiled at the witch when she turned back to look at her.

"Oh, you poor girl," Madam Pomfrey said, waving away the comment without speaking of it, "What has Azkaban done to you?"

"Actually most of this was from before they locked me up," Hermione admitted, "Being on the run with no access to nutritional food will do that to a person."

"Oh, dear," the medi-witch sighed, shaking her head sadly, "Let's start by getting you cleaned up, Miss Granger. Into the shower behind you there, please."

Hermione blinked when the matron waved her wand and the chains binding her hands and feet fell away with a loud clanking. Doing as she was told, Hermione stripped out of her tattered and filthy prison robes before stepping into the shower. The reality of her situation and the fact that she'd just been sentenced to life in prison hit her rather hard. Though not so hard as the warmth and heat of the water that cascaded down her back and over her head.

The warmth was so foreign to her that Hermione actually cried out, trying to dance out of the way of the water.

"I know it takes a few minutes to acclimatise back to the feeling of being warm, Miss Granger, but rest assured you won't spend quite so long between showers again, dear. Get clean as quickly as you can."

"They've sentenced me to life, Madame Pomfrey. I hardly think they're going to afford me showers every day."

"Every three days in the minimum provided to lifetime inmates of Azkaban Prison, Miss Granger," Madame Pomfrey told her, "You will be forced to bathe every three days. Just as you will be afforded two solid meals per day and a snack in between."

"But I've been sentenced to life," Hermione said blankly, not understanding.

"Did Sirius Black never tell you about his stay in prison, dear?" Poppy asked her.

"Not really. He didn't like talking about it."

"The use of Dementors meant most prisoners went mad and didn't actually know the circumstances of their incarceration. However, by law the Ministry must provide habitable living facilities, access to the ability to bathe and enough food to keep you alive. It might not be very wholesome food – mostly bread and water – but they do feed you and bathe you. With the Dementors dismissed and banished from their posts, you will have human guards, the likes of which can be found outside this room," Madame Pomfrey told her.

"They didn't give us any of these things while I was waiting to be tried," Hermione argued, scrubbing at her skin with the sponge and the soap within the shower, grateful to the chance to wash the grime and filth from her skin.

"Yes, well, they haven't handled things very well with so many people locked up, so many needing to be tried. Those awaiting trial dates aren't afforded the same rights – a deterrent for the innocent against committing crimes again, and a punishment to the guilty before the sentence is handed down. As a life-time prisoner, they mean to make you suffer and pay for you 'crimes' dear. That means they don't want you to go dying on them any time soon," Madam Pomfrey told her, "You'll have a monthly healthy check as well. As I am the only healer to ever have seen to your care, you will see me monthly, my dear."

"Madame Pomfrey, what do I do?" Hermione whispered to the woman when she climbed out of the shower, naked and dripping from head to foot but clean once more. She didn't bother cringing or trying to maintain any modesty with the medi-witch.

The healer had seen and examined every inch of Hermione more times than she could even remember. She wasn't concerned to have the healer see her breasts when she'd poked around her vagina in the aftermath of Dolohov's curse during her fifth year. She accepted the towel the woman handed her and went about trying to dry herself. Her hair was a mess. She's managed to wash it thoroughly with shampoo and conditioner, but she hadn't been able to untangle the bird's nest it had become.

"You allow me to examine you, is what you do. I'm also going to have to try and do something with that hair of yours," the woman told her, "You're not going to like some of the things I've been instructed to do to you, dear, but it's necessary."

Hermione held still as the witch performed diagnostic charms upon her, discovering her to be malnourished but otherwise unharmed. The sores on her wrists and ankles from her chains were healed with a salve. The cut on her lip received the same treatment and the Healer handed her phial after phial of potions to improve her overall health. She talked to her all the while, explaining the process, telling Hermione about the potions to boost her immune system, to help keep her warm, to help ensure she wouldn't develop any deficiencies after her current iron deficiency was cured. She also plied Hermine with information of all that had been going on in the world while she had been in Holding; the result of people's trials, the state of Hogwarts as the repairs began on the castle, the political climate and how everyone was scrambling as they tried to put the world to rights once more.

"I do also need to remove the body hair, Hermione, dear," Madam Pomfrey told her, nodding her head to the growth upon her legs and her privates, in addition to under her arms.

"Why?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows, "Won't it help keep me warm? Those cells are freezing."

"It would, yes," Madame Pomfrey sighed, "But it has to come off. Ministry orders. I'm afraid, my dear, that there are a number of things I'm horrified to have to share with you, but I must do so."

"Oh?" Hermione asked, watching the witch begin to smear hair-removal potion over most of Hermione's body while she held still. While she waited for it to take effect, Madame Pomfrey made sure she was given food to improve the cramping, gnawing sort of ache in her stomach from the lack of nourishment. She had to start slow on broths and bread soaked in broth, but it was better than living on mushrooms.

"There are a number of clauses that would allow you an early release, Hermione," Poppy whispered, leaning in to speak softly to her as though afraid of being overheard in their empty room, "The one most easily achievable being that, if you fall pregnant whilst incarcerated, you will be remanded to a guarded ward here at St. Mungo's rather than inside the prison. At the culmination of the pregnancy, you would be re-assessed, health wise and your psychological state would be examined for your ability to be a mother and functioning member of society once more, and likely be released on parole to raise your child."

Hermione's eyes widened at the very idea. Both because being a criminal shouldn't qualify anyone to still raise a child, and also because the idea of needing to fall pregnant in prison was beyond ludicrous. She was only nineteen, for Merlin's sake!

"Now, in the past this particular clause has been forgotten because the Dementors effectively dulled all sexual urges from prisoners or guards," Poppy whispered, "But without them, you are in very real danger inside that prison, Miss Granger. You will not be allowed to shower separately from your fellow inmates, despite there being precedent in the guidebook for it. Nor will you be afforded privacy within your cell. And they have put in place a nasty system of surrounding each prisoner with people from the opposite side during the war. Meaning that the cell directly opposite yours, in addition to the cells either side of yours, will be filled with Death Eaters. They will all be able to see into your private space. They will see you naked every time you take off your clothes or change into fresh ones. The will see you using the loo. The will see every little thing you do, if they refuse to avert their gazes."

"I'll literally be surrounded by Death Eaters?" Hermione asked, her face paling at the very idea.

"Yes, and from what I've seen of the cell-layout that's in place, the current overseer of the lifers in Azkaban is rather vicious. Poor Neville is in a cell directly opposite Rabastan Lestrange - the man who tortured Frank and Alice into insanity. Seamus is currently residing across from Amycus Carrow - the man who beat him and tortured him throughout all of last year at Hogwarts whenever he had the chance."

"Oh no," Hermione sighed, "You think I'm going to be next to people who will make me the most uncomfortable?"

"Yes," Poppy nodded.

Hermione ran a list of Death Eaters through her head that she disliked most. The most obvious one that came to mind was Antonin Dolohov - the man who'd almost taken her life during the battle at the Department of Mysteries. The one responsible for the long purple scar marring her torso from her collarbone to the opposite hip. The one who's curse still affected her every month when she got her period unless she took a series of potions Madame Pomfrey insisted she take. The one potentially responsible for the fact that Hermione might not be able to conceive. Her fingers trailed to her scar of their own accord.

"Dolohov is currently in prison serving a lifetime sentence too," Poppy nodded her head, seeing the direction of her thoughts as a result of her actions, "As is young Mr Rowle - you recall him from your first year at Hogwarts, I'm sure?"

Hermione paled at her words. Yes, she recalled Rowle. It was a little known fact that Rowle had almost killed her during her first year. She had caught him receiving oral sex in the library and tattled on him, naive twelve year old that she had been. He had been merciless in his torment of her for the rest of the year. Pushing her around. Taunting her. He'd hurt her more than once. He'd pushed her from a moving staircase one the second floor and Hermione had plummeted the long drop to land in a crumpled and broken heap at the bottom. He'd avoided expulsion only because all of his friends has vouched that he'd been nowhere near her at the time, and that she'd tripped over her own shoelaces - which Rowle had hexed together.

Very few people were aware of his involvement in her life from that time, but Hermione would never forget the terror she'd felt for the rest of the year whenever she saw the strapping blonde wizard who so resembled a Viking or a Norse god.

"Unfortunately, my dear, the current overseer of the Lifers floor at Azkaban is a young woman with a very personal grudge against Dumbledore's Army members and against you, in particular," Madame Pomfrey went on.

"Who?" Hermione asked, feeling fear grip her heart.

"Marietta Edgecombe took over the position on Umbridge's orders last month and she has been wreaking havoc there ever since."

"Oh no," Hermione sighed, recalling the girl who's face Hermione had ruined with her cursed list. The girl who's face still bore the word 'SNEAK' across it in wretched acne and boils that would never fade.

"She will be as merciless with you as she has been with Neville and Seamus, my dear," Poppy nodded sympathetically, her eyes sad.

"What does that have to do with removing all my body hair?" Hermione asked, holding still as Madame Pomfrey smeared the removal potion all over her legs, all over her privates, into the crack of her bum and under her arms.

"You'll be the only witch serving a life sentence, Hermione," Poppy whispered, "Alecto Carrow was deemed mentally unhinged and remanded to the spell-damage ward here at the hospital rather than Azkaban to serve her sentence. And no other witch has been given a life sentence since there were so few female Death Eaters. With Miss Edgecombe overseeing things, I am fearful for your safety. The only thing I can think of to get you out of there is for you to fall pregnant as soon as possible."

"You think she'll order the others to rape me?" Hermione asked, fearful.

"I don't think she'll have to. You are young, pretty, a war heroine. You have a nasty history with Dolohov. With Rowle. With both Malfoy men. There are undoubtedly more on the list of people you'll be incarcerated alongside in that place who have a personal grudge against you. Not to mention many of them are reprehensible wizards already serving life sentences. With the Dementors dismissed, the Kiss is no longer a viable threat to keep them in line. If Miss Edgecombe were to leave your cell unlocked with them similarly loose and able to get to you, or if they decided to take a shine to you whilst you are forced into a communal shower, you will be at their mercy."

"Except that I can perform wandless magic," Hermione reminded her, "I am not defenceless."

"You can only do so much though, and fear, pain or torment will distract from your ability to cast," Madame Pomfrey warned her, "Do not rely on magic alone to get you through this ordeal, Hermione."

"Wouldn't it make more sense to keep me as hairy as possible to deter them from gang-raping me?" Hermione asked, frowning as the potion took effect and Madame Pomfrey pushed her back into the shower to wash away the effects of the stuff, practically clogging the drain since it had been so long since she'd shaved anywhere. She hadn't exactly had the time or the privacy whilst on the run with Harry and Ron, living in a tent.

"You want to fall pregnant, Miss Granger, as soon as possible. The guards will be careful with you for a little while. You need to seduce one of them - all of them, if need be – and that will be easier achieved if you aren't excessively furry. If you get pregnant, you'll get out."

"That's a big 'if', Madame Pomfrey," Hermione reminded her, "Dolohov's curse makes it practically impossible, doesn't it? That's what you told me. And if I stop taking the contraceptives and things you've had me taking - in order to fall pregnant in the first place - I'll be writhing in agony every time I menstruate. More so than just PMS."

"And if you don't suffer through that, you will suffer brutal rape for the rest of your life," Madame Pomfrey reminded her sadly, "There is no other way I can think of to get you out of there, dear. You won't be eligible for appeal until you've served at least five years. You won't get parole for at least ten. Unless you seduce a guard or seduce Neville or Seamus or someone else in that prison and fall pregnant as soon as possible, you will eventually end up pregnant to one of the Death Eaters that will rape you. You will live the rest of your miserable life rotting in that place."

"You do recall what I went through with the curse the last time I had a period, don't you?" Hermione asked the woman fearfully, recalling too well the way it had felt like she was burning from the inside out - worse even that the Cruciatus curse - all as a result of the lingering effects of Dolohov's curse upon her.

"I remember," Madame Pomfrey nodded sympathetically, "I will give you as many potions to dull the pain as I can, but you _must_ fall pregnant, Hermione. As fast as you can."

"Even if I can fall pregnant, what guarantee do we have that I'll be able to carry the child to term?" Hermione asked, "If I'm being raped and beaten in there, I'll miscarry."

"Every time you do, you will be brought to the hospital to recover," Madame Pomfrey offered, "The point is that pregnancy is your only valid and legally acceptable form of escaping prison. Does it matter which one of them is the father if it means you can avoid sitting in a cell, miserable, cold, alone, hungry and in pain, for the rest of your life?"

"I don't want to birth the spawn of one of those monsters," Hermione replied, "Imagine if someone like Dolohov got me pregnant! Imagine me trying to explain things to a child as it grows up. _'Oh, this scar, it's nothing darling. A little love-bite from Daddy. Yes, Daddy's still in prison. He raped Mummy while she was locked up too. I only had you as my ticket to freedom.'_ I couldn't do that to a child. Or to myself."

"Do you understand what might happen to you if you don't, Hermione?" Madame Pomfrey asked her, hauling her back out of the shower and drying her off before administering even more potions to her.

"They'll all shag me," Hermione sighed, "I'm not a virgin…. Sex wasn't so bad."

"Sex wasn't so bad when you were doing it with Mr Potter or young Mr Weasley," Madame Pomfrey corrected her, "When it was done with your consent as an expression of love or intimacy or raging teenage hormones. It will be very different when three or four grown men who loathe you all cram their penises inside your orifices, regardless of your screams, protests, pain or humiliation."

Hermione cringed at the truth of that.

"I've taken two at once before," Hermione admitted, "I was dating Fred and George during fifth year and still sleeping with them causally during sixth. I'm no stranger to some of the kinkier and more depraved things a wizard or wizards can do to a witch."

Madam Pomfrey looked rather startled at the admission.

"Nevertheless, Hermione, we are not talking about Fred and George Weasley. We're talking about the likes of Antonin Dolohov, Thorfinn Rowle, Rabastan Lestrange and Amycus Carrow. We're talking about Draco and Lucius Malfoy. About Theodore Nott. You do not want to find out the ways a person can suffer during intercourse when those animals get it into their heads to ravage you against your will."

"You really think my safest bet is to get pregnant?" Hermione asked her quietly.

"It's your only option for seeing freedom any time this decade," Poppy nodded her head, "But don't tell anyone what you're trying to do. If you're caught seducing people, you'll be blamed. If you are perceived as a victim, your superiors will be blamed. Meaning the Aurors and Edgecombe. If she lets people rape you, you will be remanded to the hospital and she will be fired."

"Right. So, seduce everyone. Don't get caught. Play it cool when people rape me?" Hermione asked, feeling bitterness well up in her at the very idea.

"Unless you get pregnant, you will not have proof of the encounters. Aurors and Miss Edgecombe can look the other way to such things – Merlin, if you're truly unfortunate some of the amoral aurors may try to rape you themselves. Without pregnancy, it will not be investigated – even if I were able to put in my findings that you'd been abused. The courts are dismissive of such things when it comes to those serving a life sentence."

"You say that like you know," Hermione frowned.

"Unfortunately, dear, I do know," Poppy sighed, "When I'm not matron up at the school, I am on the staff at the hospital here. Part of my rotations over the years has involved visiting Azkaban to examine the prisoners more than once in the past. Bellatrix Lestrange – whilst imprisoned – was one of my patients."

"She was raped in prison?"

"To be honest, my findings were inconclusive," Poppy sighed, "It was clear to me that she'd been sexually active whilst locked up – indeed she fell pregnant more than once but miscarried within the first three months. I was never able to discover if she was forced into the intimacy by guards, other inmates or her husband – whom she shared a cell with – or if she invited the sex as a means of fighting off the effects of the Dementors. As you know, they feed on positive emotions. The emotions created during sex and orgasm would have the same effect as a Patronus charm – for a few minutes at the very least."

"That's horrible," Hermione said wrinkling her nose.

"Yes well, it couldn't have happened to a nice person," Poppy said dryly, "I do not, however, want to see you suffer the types of things she did in prison. I will be falsifying my report to state that you are on contraceptives for medical reasons, as you have been since the end of your fifth year. You will not be taking them. For you check-up each month I will administer as many long-lasting pain potions as possible, but you will still experience some discomfort during menstruation, I'm afraid."

"What effect do you believe the curse will have on me being pregnant if I manage to conceive?" Hermione asked her quietly, taking a seat on the provided examination table and watching as Pomfrey began snipping at the matted tangle she was passing off as human hair.

"Well, the potions preventing your from menstruating have thus far nulled the pain of the curse that flares up at that time, so it stands to reason that being pregnant would have the same effect. Have you been experiencing any pain outside of your menstruation week?"

"To be honest I've been without proper nourishment for so long that I think I've lost the ability to menstruate, for the time being," Hermione admitted quietly, "I don't recall my last period."

"I feared as much. The potions I've given you will regulate your cycle once more," the matron told her, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this all off, dear. It's not going to untangle on its own."

"I thought that might happen," Hermione sighed, "It likes like an afro when it's short."

"I'll leave it as long as I can, Hermione, but a lot of the length will come off."

Hermione nodded her head.

"Will you give my love to Ron and Ginny?" Hermione asked of the witch quietly, "I saw them outside the courtroom, but the Aurors didn't stop to let them talk to me. There were reporters everywhere too."

"I'll pass along your love, dear," Poppy promised her, "I want you to do something for me, Hermione."

"What is it?"

"You must work hard inside your cell every day to make sure you stay fit and strong. You must eat every meal you are given, no matter how dull, repetitive or close to being contaminated it is. You must not allow your magic or your mind to diminish. Practice your spells as best you can without getting caught. You've a photographic memory. I want you to use it. Recite hours and hours' worth of stories and text-book chapters. Belt out boisterous songs, any you know the words to. Practice yoga. Keep your body supple and strong. Do not let the abuse – verbal or physical – from your guards or your fellow inmates dampen your spirit."

"I'll try," Hermione whispered.

"Do more than try, dear. Succeed. And open your mouth," Poppy told her.

Hermione did as she was told without question. Gasping in surprise when Poppy fished something from her pocket and popped in under Hermione's tongue.

"What's that?" Hermione asked.

"Don't let anyone see you with it. Don't swallow it. Don't lose it. I want you to hold that in your mouth until your exam next month, Miss Granger. It's a mandrake leaf," Poppy whispered.

Hermione's eyes widened before her mind began to race. A mandrake leaf. One she was to carry inside her mouth for an entire month. A task to stay strong and keep her magic sharp. Madame Pomfrey had given her all the tools to begin attempting Animagi. Hermione recognised what the witch was saying without her saying it.

If all else failed and the plan to escape by getting pregnant nosedived, Madame Pomfrey wanted to ensure there would be another option open to her for escape – a less legal option. Like Sirius before her, Hermione would hopefully, one day, be able to transform her body into that of an animal, slip between the bars and escape the terrible prison. It would make her a fugitive for the rest of her life, but Hermione was thinking she could live with that if the alternative was Azkaban. Hope filled her heart as she accepted her task, willing herself to meet the challenge.

She nodded her head and smiled widely at the medi-witch, brightly grinning at the other woman before tucking the mandrake leaf into her cheek where no one would spot it.

"Time to get dressed now, dear," Poppy sighed.

She walked over to the pile of things Hermione had noticed on the far bench. Beige knickers and a beige sports-bra were handed to her first, followed by a thermal shirt and some leggings – they were black in colour. Over the top of them she was given the modern day equivalent of a prison jumpsuit, striped black and white to make certain she felt like a proper criminal. Thick socks that would reach her knees were given, followed by a pair of wool-lined boots. To top off the ensemble was a heavy winter over-coat, lined with fur, to ensure that though it might currently be summer, she would be warm throughout the coming winter she would spend in prison.

"These things are also for you. The only items you are permitted, they will be replenished by elves as you require them," Madame Pomfrey told her, handing Hermione a family-sized package of loo paper, an enormous box of tampons, a Ministry issue toothbrush and hairbrush. A fat tube of toothpaste came with it, along with a set of sheets, a blanket and a lumpy looking pillow. She was also given a large water bottle – five litres worth of water.

"You are not permitted more than that per day, so be careful how you use it," Poppy warned her, pointing to the water, "You are also permitted some personal items, such as books, photos, and things as long as they are harmless in nature."

"I don't see any," Hermione said frowning when the only thing even resembling a book was a Ministry issue handbook listing the conduct and decorum expected of prisoners serving life sentences.

"I thought it more prudent to wait until next month to bring you such things. It will give Ronald a chance to gather anything in particular that you like. It will also mean that the guards and Miss Edgecombe are less likely to confiscate or damage your effects. I do not doubt she, especially, will attempt to ruffle your feathers."

"It would be wrong of me to murder her like I murdered Umbridge, wouldn't it?" Hermione asked.

"Some people deserve Death, Miss Granger," Poppy told her, smiling tightly, "But additional murders will not bring you parole any sooner should the plan for pregnancy or animagi fail."

Hermione sighed heavily.

"What do I get in my cell, do you know? In the holding cell we had to toilet in was a bucket in the corner and didn't get fed often, or given anything to keep us warm," Hermione told the witch.

"Your cell comes with a toilet, though it's little more than a bowl mounted on the wall and they barely flush. You will have a cot mounted along the length of one wall with a thin mattress on it. And that's really about it. There is a shelf to store the water and the toiletry items, but nothing else," Poppy told her. Every cell is eight by ten feet. The walls between adjacent cells are stone two-thirds of the way up, but there are bars at the top of each – meaning the others will be able to look into your cell whenever they are standing up. The front of the cell is entirely bars. Whomever you are opposite will have full view into your cell all of the time. The walkway separating all cells is four foot wide, so it you want to, you can reach across and touch the other person, if they are similarly reaching."

Hermione nodded her head, biting her lip carefully as she thought about it.

"Generally speaking, Lifers are kept on the highest floors of the prison, in the middle cells of the block. The ends – unless the floor is filled with lifers – are filled with those serving lengthy sentences. Kinsgley will likely be on your floor – or he was the last time I was there to check on Neville and Seamus - but he will be dealt with separately and kept away from you, I imagine," Poppy told her.

"How many women are likely to be on the floor I'm on?" Hermione asked carefully.

"The Lifers floor is full but for two cells and there are twelve cells to a floor. Kinsgley is in one of them – an amusement over the idea of the ex-Auror and the Death Eaters all living together. One of the vacant cells will be yours when you arrive. The other cell there not filled by someone serving a life sentence is currently unoccupied, but I suspect it will not remain that way for long. All of the Weasleys have been released except for George. He is still pending a trial. It's unlikely that he will be released. He lost control when Fred was killed and he murdered ten people – according to his wand – and so it's likely it will eventually belong to George."

Hermione nodded her head, her heart clenching in her chest.

"So I'm literally the only woman on the entire floor?"

"Yes," Poppy nodded, "You are in for a very rough existence surrounded by wizards, Miss Granger. I hardly think I need to tell you that men can be disgusting, but, well."

"But men can be absolutely disgusting," Hermione nodded her head, "You believe I will be escorted to the shower block along with the rest of them?"

"Oh no, there are too many to risk it all at once. They escort in groups of two to four at a time," Poppy told her.

"Oh good, that's just the number of orifices I have that can be brutalised," Hermione bit out coolly.

"Yes, I know. If you get a decent guard on duty, like Proudfoot or Entwhistle outside there," Poppy nodded toward the door, "You will likely be escorted down with your fellow DA members and friends. But there are others who will go by cell count, or by which four might bring the most amusement or cause you the most harm. If you are very lucky, someone might allow you to go alone, but if that happens you will need to remain on your guard to ensure you aren't jumped by _them_."

Hermione nodded her head.

"Pregnancy is the goal," Hermione reminded her, "If I don't fight, they might be less inclined to try it – those who only want to humiliate me."

"They might. Or they might take it as simply you becoming the, erm, broom to be ridden, as it were."

"Delightful," Hermione muttered, "Well, I don't see Seamus or Neville forcing themselves on me."

"No, I don't either. But they are still young men, Miss Granger. They have sexual urges and the sight of the naked female form will entice them. After a little while of being locked up, even their morals might begin to slip."

"I don't envision myself minding having to sleep with either of them," Hermione admitted softly, "Especially if I'm trying to get knocked up. I'd prefer one of them to be the father than one of the wretched Death Eaters."

Madame Pomfrey nodded.

"Well, my dear, I'm afraid there is little else I can do to prolong this meeting," the medi-witch sighed, "I want to thank you for all you have done for the wizarding world, no matter how wrong it is that you are being locked up for it. And I want you to promise me you won't lose hope. Don't give up. You fight every single day, you hear me?"

"I promise, Madame Pomfrey," Hermione smiled, allowing the witch to pull her into a motherly hug and squeeze her tightly, "Give my love to the Weasley's. If you see George before I do, please tell him I hope they let him go free. If you could ask Ron to get his hands on a picture of the Order and the DA from before the fighting began and everyone died, I'd very much appreciate it."

"Of course, my darling girl. And thank you, for what you did to that vile toad of a woman. I have wished ill on her since I first learned she was using a Blood Quill on my students – nay, since the days she filed legislation and bills pertaining to werewolves and so ruined my Remus's life."

"You and Remus were very close?" Hermione asked her.

"Oh yes," Poppy smiled sadly, "I loved that boy like he was my own son. I love every student I encounter, in my own way. But with his lycanthropy, Remus was a permanent fixture in my hospital throughout his years at Hogwarts."

"I'm sorry he's gone," Hermione whispered, feeling her eyes fill at the pain of knowing Fred and Tonks, Remus and Harry were all dead.

"I am too, Hermione. Now I need you to be strong for me so I can have you out of that place as soon as possible."

Hermione nodded her head in agreement, blinking back the tears.

"Are there any books you'd like me to deliver the next time I see you? You're only allowed three."

"Three?" Hermione asked, despairing, "Oh dear. That's not nearly enough. Erm, maybe a copy of all the Grimm's Fairytales? And the complete works on Jane Austin, if you can get them all in one thick tome? And the third… erm… maybe a book of poems or something? Something to take my mind off where I am. Or something on Animagi to make sure I don't mess it up?"

"I'll see what I can find. Minerva is sure to have a recommendation," Poppy promised her, "Best gather your things now, dear. It's time."

Hermione nodded her head, going to the desk and picking up the bag of belongings she'd been permitted in one hand, and the water container in the other. Her heart was pounding fearfully inside her chest. She didn't want to go. She wanted to run. To risk splinching herself by trying to apparate away. She wanted to beg Madame Pomfrey to hide her. She wanted to cry for her mother.

But she did none of those things. Instead, Hermione Granger shifted the mandrake leaf inside her cheek, squared her shoulders and accepted her fate, no matter what it might hold.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks ever so much to those of you who take the time to review. Your words prompt me to type faster, hence this speedy update. To those of you who've been panicking over the tagged characters change, don't get so funny. After you read this chapter, it will all make sense =) Much love! xx -Kitten.**

* * *

 **Jailbird Blues**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

* * *

Proudfoot and Entwhistle took her to Azkaban without a word. They didn't return her to her chains, though they did both keep a painfully tight grip on each of her upper arms. Neither of them spoke to her as they escorted her back to the island. Hermione found herself gulping as she stared up at the towering structure. Stabbing towards the sky like a wretched dagger attempting to slice open the heavens, the building was foreboding and terrible. She'd been so consumed by her grief last time she'd arrived here that she hadn't had time to look at the wretched place.

Looming, dark and terrible, it was a sight that struck fear into her heart. She was terrified that, despite Madame Pomfrey's words, she would end up in a cell like the one she'd occupied last time – before the trial. She couldn't do it again. She couldn't live like that and do as Madame Pomfrey had asked her. Any optimism for release would be sapped from her like liquid from a bowl left in the sun.

"Home, sweet home," Hermione muttered and Proudfoot glanced down at her fathomlessly for a long moment as she was escorted inside and into an elevator to take them to the highest floors of the prison where the life-sentence prisoners were housed.

"How bad is it going to get for me, Proudfoot?" Hermione asked the Auror seriously.

"You're not supposed to talk to me, criminal," the wizard told her.

"Just answer the question. I already know that I'm the only woman on the floor you're taking me to… just, how royally fucked am I?" Hermione asked, losing patience with the by-the-book Auror.

Entwhistle snorted on her other side.

"Oh love, there's no royals among this lot. But I guarantee you're properly fucked. Every time you have to take a shower, I'd reckon," the dark eyed wizard told her, sounding rather amused by it.

"I figured as much," Hermione sighed, "But I meant how bad do things get before you lot intervene?"

"Fighting amongst prisoners isn't permitted," Proudfoot told her.

"If blood gets drawn, we step in," Entwhistle gave her a more useful answer.

"So you won't intervene while they rape me?" she asked the man, ignoring Proudfoot when he spluttered in protest.

"Depends, girly," Entwhilste said, glaring at her, "Depends who's here when it happens. That one will escort you to the showers by yourself and let you wash in peace."

He nodded at Proudfoot.

"And you?" Hermione asked him, tipping her head up to meet the man's gaze.

"Well see now, this lot are in here for life, little lady. Same as you," he chuckled, "Except for Kings, anyway. And horny prisoners make for grump as fuck arseholes who'll pick fights with the guard just for a little excitement."

"Oh, I see. So I get to be the outlet for their frustration just so you don't have to deal with their moods?" Hermione challenged her temper flaring.

Entwhislte spun on her so fast it made Hermione dizzy. He gripped her chin tightly and forced her face up until she was looked directly upwards. He also hung his face right over the top of hers, so close that Hermione could count his eyelashes, smell the coffee on his breath and almost feel his nose brushing against hers. She tensed and felt Proudfoot's hand on her arm tighten reflexively before he stepped over, trying to insist Entwhistle should back off.

"Let me tell you something, girly," the Auror drawled in a low voice, "Happy prisoners – as happy as they fuckin' can be in this shit hole – make my job easier. And if they get happy by screwing you until you gag or until all you can shit is cum, I'll let them."

"And when I'm the unhappy prisoner who can perform wandless magic and will take my foul mood out on the entire prison until their happiness is inconsequential and non-existent as a result?" Hermione challenged, refusing to be intimated by the fierce and rather scary Auror.

"You think you'll still be able to use that magic when this lot keep you so well-shagged you can't function?" Entwhistle countered, raising his eyebrows, "And I don't just mean the other shitheads in this place, little lady."

"I get to look forward to guards abusing their position too?" Hermione asked, deadpan.

"Entwhistle, let her go," Proudfoot demanded, "You know you're not allowed to intimidate any more of them or you'll be on report."

"This one ain't intimidated," Entwhistle commented, noticing that Hermione was refusing to let any fear of him or the threat of rape show in her eyes, "You got some serious stones, witch."

Hermione bounced both eyebrows at the man.

"You're not afraid of me, are you, little one?" Entwhistle asked her, tilting his head slightly, his eyes boring into hers.

"No, I'm not," Hermione admitted quietly, "But I do want to know how far you will let them, or other guards go? You'll let them screw me, obviously. Will you let them beat me too?"

"Will you fight being shagged?" the Auror wanted to know.

"Not if they're polite and don't hurt me while they do it," Hermione said, feeling a little piece of her soul shrivel up and die at the admission, even if she was only agreeing to it because it would mean that she might get pregnant and get out of there sooner.

"Really?" Proudfoot asked, his voice showing his shock even if her face was currently too close to Entwhistle's to see his expression.

"Really," Hermione sighed, "Just… I mean, I get it. People have urges, myself included. If you lot could give me a break every now and then, or at least keep the rest of them from getting obnoxious about it, I can play ball."

"You'll willing fuck all of them?" Entwhistle asked, "They're almost all Death Eaters, _lisica_."

Hermione blinked at the Polish term for vixen.

"I know that," Hermione nodded, "More than one of them have tried to kill me personally… just… How many are there serving life right now?"

"Including you, there are twelve prisoners on your floor – or will be when Weasley's trial is decided later today. There's another floor of Lifers below yours – but they're the older, surlier bastards who are leaning toward Death row – mostly the ones mentally unhinged from too long spent in here when the Dementors still ran things or twisted by the effects of the Cruciatus curse. MacNair, Travers, a few others. The eldest wizard on your floor is probably Kings, or maybe Lucius Malfoy."

"Are Dolohov and Rowle on my floor?" Hermione asked, her chin still gripped tight by Entwhistle as they rode the slow, creaking elevator towards the top-most floor of the prison.

"They're your neighbours," Proudfoot sighed, "Edgecombe insisted you be placed opposite Rowle, and in between Dolohov and Rabastan Lestrange."

"Is Rodolphus on my floor too?" Hermione asked, feeling sick at the thought of just who she'd be surrounded by, but unsurprised.

"Nah, he's pretty fucked up after his last visit. The ones on your floor are all still sane. Or close to sane. Both Malfoys. Rowle. Dolohov. Lestrange. Carrow. Longbottom. Finnegan. Shacklebolt. Nott junior. And George Weasley, after he's sentenced," Entwhistled listed the names off.

Hermione felt sick.

"Do I have to fuck Carrow?" she whispered, staring into the dark eyes of the wizard before her.

"He's hardly the worst of the lot," Entwhistle frowned, "Bit thick most of the time, but Lestrange and Dolohov are the worst fuckers in the bunch. They've killed more people combined than just about anyone. We don't count Longbottom and Finnegan, obviously. Mass murder via bridge destruction doesn't get you extra points as a cold fucker."

"No, he's not the worst according to his crimes, but Carrow's a moron," Hermione pointed out quietly, "I really don't want to fuck him. I'll take my chance with the rest, if I have to. I'd rather not, obviously, but I get it. Please?"

"You don't object to the rest?" Entwhistle wanted to know.

"Of course I object, I don't want to shag any of them," Hermione rolled her eyes, "But since you've already said you'll let them fuck me, I'd prefer it if you lot would be willing to intervene on my behalf when they get too rough or try to hurt me. If all I have to do is hold still and let them ravage me in exchange, I'll survive."

"Bloody hell," Proudfoot muttered, "Get off her, Entwhistle. Miss Granger, do you understand what you're saying?"

"I'm bartering sexual favours for a modicum of protection?" Hermione guessed as Entwhistle searched her gaze for another long moment before his eyes dropped to her lips as though he might kiss her himself.

"Why?" Proudfoot asked, "I'd have protected you regardless."

"Yes, but you're not the only Auror on this rotation, Proudfoot," Hermione sighed, "And you'll be rotated back to the mainland after a bit and someone else will come along. By then I'm hoping the other inmates will respect the idea of not going too far and hurting me."

"Really are a clever little thing, aren't you, _lisica_?" Entwhistle asked her.

"Brightest witch of my age," Hermione nodded, still deadpan.

"You've got yourself a deal, as far as I'm concerned. You'll have to work something out with the other Aurors on rotation after us, but I could have a word with a few of 'em," he told her.

"You don't have to sell yourself for the right to not being beaten to death, Hermione," Proudfoot objected, shaking his head.

"Yeah, I kind of do," Hermione argued, "Look, it's fine. As long as I don't have to fuck Carrow and as long as the rest can be polite about it, I'll handle their needs. I mean, I'd have probably ended up shagging Neville, Seamus and George anyway – once they get over feeling bad about it. And I've actually had a crush on Kings for a while. Theo and Draco Malfoy aren't ideal, but I went to school with them, so y'know, I could handle it, if they're polite."

"And the others?" Entwhistle asked.

"Rowle tried to kill me when I was a first year. He pushed me from a moving staircase at Hogwarts and got pretty rough with me after I tattled on him at Hogwarts when he was a seventh year. And Dolohov gave me this."

Hermione put down her water container and peeled open her clothing to show both Aurors the purple scar across her chest.

"Bloody hell," Proudfoot said, leaning in to examine it, "That purple fire curse of his, right? Never known anyone to actually survive it before."

Hermione nodded her head.

"Lucius Malfoy has always been a bit of a git every time I've encountered him, but he did defect, so I assume he won't be wretched. He's also snooty about me being a muggleborn, so he might keep his distance anyway. And I've never had the misfortune of meeting Lestrange in person."

"Lucky you," Proudfoot muttered, "I hate that fucker."

"My point," Hermione sighed, noticing idly that Entwhistle's fingers had left her chin to slowly trace the column of her throat, an intrigued gleam glittering in his dark eyes, "Is that more than half of them aren't likely to hurt me and I'll happily shag them if it helps keep my sanity or theirs. As for those I'm concerned over - Rowle, Dolohov and Lestrange, specifically - if you lot could see fit to make sure they don't attempt to kill me, or don't actually hurt me, that would be ideal."

"Don't worry, _Lisica_ ," Entwhistle said quietly, "If you play ball, I'll be more than happy to keep the rest of the fuckers in line. And we'll just let them stew for a little while. Get their threats and the bullshit out of their systems before you have to go anywhere near them."

"So, what? I get the first month worth of showers to myself?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I reckon we could handle that," Entwhistle smirked, "This is a six month rotation, so you'll be dealing with me and Proudfoot most of the time."

"Who trades off shifts with you two?" Hermione asked.

"Savage and Cunningham," Entwhistle answered, his eyes still holding hers while his fingers stroked her throat, "I'll have a word to them about your willingness to play along."

"And from you lot?" Hermione asked quietly, listening to Proudfoot mutter about prisoner favouritism and about the fact that as a female prisoner she had rights to shower only with those of her gender and to be protected.

"How many of the guards will likely fuck you?" Entwhistle clarified.

Hermione nodded her head, noticing as she did that the Auror before her smelled good underneath the coffee on his breath. He smelled like expensive cologne, all spice and smoky tones that made her want to lean into him and breathe him in. his was the best scent she'd picked up on in months of rotting in this wretched prison awaiting her trial.

"On our rotation... well, that will depend. Don't need to worry about old Proudfoot there," Entwhistle smirked, "The miserable old git prefers witches his own age and he's got his eye on one in particular. Savage - well now, if you're up for it, he'll be into it. Doesn't much care where he gets himself some tail. Cunningham's probably too old to get it up without chemical assistance, so you'll be fine with him. Next rotation or the fuckers from other floors might be a different story."

Hermione pressed her lips together in a thin line for a moment, blinking at the wizard. He was young, comparatively, maybe six or seven years older than her.

"And you, Entwhistle?" she asked in a low voice, "Will I be entertaining you as well, or are you prejudiced like you younger brother and repulsed by my status as a mudblood?"

"Forgot that you're in Toby's year," Entwhistle smirked at her, "Snobby little shit, isn't he?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted with a small grin.

The Auror grinned back at her before briefly lowering his lips to brush against hers even as the elevator gave a dull groan to indicate they'd finally reached the top. Proudfoot bent down and picked up Hermione's water container, apparently deciding that he didn't want to intervene between his colleague and his prisoner. Entwhistle's lips were slightly chapped and dry, but still soft against her own as Proudfoot led the way out of the elevator. His large frame blocked her from the view of the other prisoners.

"Does that answer your question, witch?" he asked when he pulled back from kissing her lips.

"Not in front of them?" she asked, nodding towards the prisoners in their cells outside the room.

"Not in front of them," he agreed, "You don't remember me from Hogwarts, do you Granger?"

"One of Rowle's goons who almost got me killed, right?" Hermione asked with a sigh.

"You _do_ remember," he chuckled, "He's going to have a field day when he sees you. Edgecombe put you across from him, you know?"

"Why not Dolohov?" Hermione asked.

"Weasley will be sentenced to life later today. The crazy bitch thinks it will be funny to put that kid across from the bastard who murdered his uncles."

"How much authority do you lot have to intervene against her?" Hermione asked as Entwhistle backed out of the elevator, taking his hands off her.

"Not much. If she tries anything too bad with you, we can step in. Why?"

"She's got a vendetta against me," Hermione sighed, "Because of what I did to her face. Hit her with a finite some time and you'll see what I'm talking about, if you can get past the excessive make-up she has to wear. What am I allowed to do in retaliation against her without bringing Auror or Ministry wrath down on me?"

"What do you want to do?" he asked, grinning at her in amusement.

"Wring her scrawny neck and rip all those curls from her head."

"Oooh, you are still just as feisty as I remember," he laughed, "Rowle's going to blow a nut when he sees you're his new cell-mate."

"Delightful," Hermione sighed, "Can you do me one favour?"

"What is it?" the wizard asked, frowning a little.

"Make sure all these gits are cleared against STDs and anything they might pass on to me while I'm entertaining them?" Hermione asked, "I might be stuck here for life, but I'd rather live out my sentence without gonorrhoea."

Entwhistle snorted at her words.

"Yeah, alright, I'll speak to a healer friend of mine and have them all tested and put on something to prevent it," he nodded.

"That goes for you and Savage too," Hermione told him, "This is a no-fly zone without proof that you lot have been cleared against such things."

"Bossy little thing, aren't you witch?" he chuckled, "Just what proof do you want?"

"I want to watch anyone who'll be screwing me as they take the potions to prevent me catching their STDs. I'm on contraceptives myself, which should guard against disease and pregnancy, but making sure they can't pass anything along too would be nice."

"You really are a logical little vixen, aren't you, _lisica_?" he asked, "Come on, let's make your debut into the world of being a Lifer in Azkaban prison."

Hermione watched him turn as stroll down the corridor. She was tempted to turn right back around and dive into the elevator to try and escape, but she knew it would do her no good and would just screw over the bargain she'd just made with Entwhistle.

"Granger?" Draco Malfoy's voice was one of the first she heard as she stepped into the long, narrow corridor leading toward her cell.

Hermione glanced to her left and there, in the very first cell out the gate was the platinum blonde hair and pointed face she so recalled from her younger years.

"Malfoy," Hermione nodded to him in greeting, acknowledging his existence when she recalled that sometime in the future she would likely be shagging him.

"Hermione?" the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt came from behind her and Hermione spun towards him quickly.

"Kings," Hermione said, her eyes softening with sympathy as she caught sight of him. She hurried over to the bars of his cell, reaching through the bars and pressing herself to them when he came within reach. Kingsley wrapped his arms around her through the bars and Hermione breathed in the scent of his skin, frowning when she didn't pick up the citrus scent of his cologne she'd grown accustomed to over the years.

"They put you in here for life?" he asked, his voice tight.

Hermione nodded, feeling tears prickle behind her eyes.

"I murdered Umbridge with blood magic in the courtroom," Hermione told him quietly, "The bitch is gone."

"Brilliant, foolish girl," the wizard laughed deeply, "How are we getting you out of here?"

"It's all being taken care of, Kings," Hermione muttered back to him, pressing her nose to the side of his neck and breathing in the scent of the Ministry-issue soap they'd all been given for bathing.

"Good. I'm sorry to see you here, my girl," Kingsley told her, "But you are a sight for sore eyes."

"Come on, _lisica_ ," Entwhistle grumbled, "Indulge your crush later."

"Entwhistle?" Hermione asked in her sweetest ton, releasing Kingsley with a brush of her lips to the man's cheek, "Don't be a git, yeah?"

"Watch it , witch," the Auror threatened with no heat in his tone.

"Hermione?" Neville asked, his voice scratchy as though he'd been yelling.

"Oh, Neville," Hermione sighed when she spotted her friend and fellow DA member. He looked terrible, his hair mussed and several days' worth of stubble lining his jaw.

"No, no, no. What are you doing here, Hermione?" Neville protested, blinking at her as though he didn't believe his eyes, "You can't be here. You're innocent. You're too good. No!"

Hermione moved to the front of his cell and pressed herself to the bars, reaching for her friend too.

"I got her, Neville," Hermione told him, hugging the boy as she'd hugged Kinglsey, "Umbridge is dead."

"What? How? When?" Neville asked, clutching her close and burrowing his face into her neck as though she were a soft pillow after a long day.

"Blood magic. Two hours ago," Hermione told him proudly, "The bitch is gone and she's never coming back. She paid for all the blood she owed us and all the lives she ruined."

"But how?" Neville asked, "You don't have your wand."

"I don't need my wand, love," Hermione smirked, pulling back from him and wiggling her fingers to show him the small flame she conjured at their tips.

"You can still do wandless magic?" Neville asked, sounding awed.

"I ripped every drop of blood from her body and watched it arrange itself on the floor of that courtroom in the words she made us all write and then the shapes of those she killed. She's gone and she's never coming back."

"Bloody hell," Neville muttered, staring at her wide-eyed for a long moment before he snaked his hand around the back of her neck - bare now thanks to the hack-job Madame Pomfrey had been forced to do on her curls - before he pulled her to him and planted a kiss right on her lips.

Hermione giggled even as she kissed him back, amused by his response.

"Merlin's saggy y-fronts, Hermione, you're bloody brilliant!"

"Oi, what are ye doin' kissin' her, Nev?" Seamus's Irish accent rang out from the other end of the hall.

"She murdered Umbridge in her hearing today," Neville called.

"What? Really?" Seamus asked.

"Bloody hell, Granger!" Malfoy muttered from behind her.

"Right on, Granger!" Theo Nott called from the very end of the hall.

"You killed that pastel hag?" an unfamiliar voice came from behind her and Hermione turned slowly to meet the surprised and rather approving gaze of Rabastan Lestrange.

"Yes," Hermione admitted, nodding slightly as she eyed the Death Eater coolly.

"How?" Lestrange wanted to know.

"Called in all of her blood debts and watched her bleed out on the courtroom floor," Hermione admitted.

"You don't have a wand," Lestrange pointed out, "You steal one?"

"Blood Magic," Hermione told him, "I used wandless bloody magic."

"She's dead?"

"She's dead," Proudfoot interrupted, "Watched her expire myself."

Hermione was rather alarmed by the way Lestrange grinned wickedly and began to cheer, doing a little dance at the idea of Umbridge being dead. Along the corridor, many of the other Death Eaters cheered along with him, all of them standing at the front of their cells, their hands wrapped around the bars and celebrating Umbridge's murder.

"Hermione, come 'ere lass!" Seamus called, reaching through the bars three cells down from Lestrange's.

"Blimey you lot, keep it down, would you?" Proudfoot grumbled, "Granger, get in your cell, witch."

"Oh come on, two more minutes?" Hermione grinned at the middle-aged auror, ducking around him and dropping the bag of blankets and things next to where he'd put her water container in her doorway.

"Granger," Entwhistle warned, making like he might block her from continuing down the row.

"Oh, don't be such a swot about the rules, would you Entwhistle?" Hermione taunted the Auror when she feinted right and then ducked left around him, running on her toes to where Seamus was hanging through the bars.

"Blimey, it's good to see you, lass," Seamus told her, catching her and pulling her into a hug through the bars, "I mean, I hoped they'd let you go, y'know, but Christ, if you're here 'cause you killed that feckin' bitch, I'm not going to whinge."

Copying Neville, the Irishman tugged her to him until he could plant his lips on her, kissing her soundly on the mouth in his exuberance.

"Wait, you're not going to whinge? That'll be a first for you, Finnegan," Carrow's reedy voice came from behind Seamus.

"Do me a favour, Carrow?" Seamus retorted, resting his forehead against Hermione's for a minute, "Suck my cock."

"One day boy, I'm going to carve that tongue out of your fuckin' head," Carrow sneered in retort.

"I see we've all got some delightful neighbours?" Hermione chuckled when Seamus flipped Carrow the bird.

"You've got no bloody idea, lass. I'm right sorry you're stuck over there between these fuckers," Seamus said, jerking his thumb at Rowle, Dolohov and Lestrange.

"It could be worse," Hermione assured him, patting his cheek affectionately, "I could deal with having you watching my every move instead."

"Yeah, but I'm a gentleman who'd give you privacy when you need to take a piss," Seamus chuckled.

Hermione nodded her head.

"Oi, Rowle, you a voyeur?" Hermione called over her shoulder.

"Am now, Princess," the boisterous Death Eater retorted, "Where's my kiss in greeting?"

"It's waiting for you right alongside all those fucks I'm going to give about your bullshit," Hermione told him.

"Ho, ho," Rowle laughed scoffing, "Who corrupted that innocent tongue of yours, Baby-girl? I want to taste that foul language dripping off it."

"Ye going to be alright with these fucks, lass?" Seamus asked, pulling her a little closer as though he might be able to protect her.

"I'll be fine," Hermione assured him, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck before pulling away, "I mean, it's not like this one and that one haven't both personally tried to kill me or anything."

She jerked her thumb at Dolohov and then Rowle

"Next time I'm loose I'll try again, Princess," Rowle warned her coldly.

"Oh, I'm so scared," Hermione rolled her eyes, winking at Seamus.

"Hells, but you don't belong in this place, Hermione," Seamus shook his head.

"I'll make life interesting for you though, won't I?" Hermione smirked at him widely.

"Fuck, I hope so," Theo Nott said from behind her, "Where's my kiss, Granger?"

"You really want one, Nott?" Hermione asked, turning to look at him, "I'd hate to infect you with my mudblood cooties."

"Smartarse," he accused her, "Honestly, witch? I've already been here long enough that I'll take what I can get."

"Not what you said in the showers yesterday, Nott," Lestrange called out.

"You try and put your cock anywhere near my arse again, Lestrange," Nott retorted, "And I'll snap the bloody thing off."

"Pussy," Lestrange shot back.

"Oh delightful," Hermione sighed, turning to look at Proudfoot, "Do they all bicker like this?"

"Would you get in your bloody cell before I have to manhandle you, witch?" the frustrated Auror growled, rubbing at his forehead as though they were all giving him a headache, "We've got to haul Weasley to his trial."

"But I haven't even said hello to everyone yet," Hermione protested, grinning and having entirely too much fun when she dodged the man's grip as he reached for her.

Hermione squawked in protest when Entwhistle snuck up behind her, spun her and lifted her onto his shoulder.

"Hey! Damn it, Entwhistle," Hermione protested, beating her fists against the man's back, "This is hardly professional."

"Hush up, _lisica_ ," Entwhistle told her, "We've got places to be and you're holding things up. You can play with your friends when we get back."

"You'll let me out again? I've already showered twice today," Hermione told him, noticing as she hung over the man's shoulder that Dolohov's brown eyes followed her every move. Hermione caught his gaze and flicked him the forks, earning herself a cruel chuckle.

"Then you can wait until tomorrow and play with them then."

"You're no fun, you know that, Entwhistle?" Hermione asked when he toted her into her small cell and deposited her on the thin mattress.

"Gods, when was the last time this place was cleaned?" Hermione wrinkled her nose at the state of the cell. It was habitable, and pristine compared to where she had been, but still grimy.

"This morning. Take it up with the elves if you've got a problem," Entwhistle told her, "And try not to stir up any more trouble, yeah?"

He chucked her lightly under the chin with the back of his hand.

"No promises, but it's fine, I'll handle the mess."

Hermione immediately bounced back to her feet - feeling better all the time with the potions coursing through her system and returning her strength to her. She snapped her fingers and watched the way the residual grime upon the floors and the walls peeled away before siphoning itself all out the window.

"You weren't kidding about that wandless magic, eh?" Lestrange asked, peering into her cell over the half-wall of stone separating their bunks, "Can you do mine too?"

"What are you going to give me for it?" Hermione bargained.

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be noble?" Lestrange chuckled, "That's a Slytherin line drawling out of your mouth, witch."

"I don't do favours to people who've tried to kill me unless there's something in it for me, Lestrange," Hermione told him.

"I'll give you the time of your life if you come close enough," the wizard offered, winking lasciviously.

"You realise that you're, like, filthy, right?" Hermione asked, "Did you not bathe recently? Are you not permitted a razor? You look like something my cat might've coughed up."

"Oooh, and she's an ice queen too," Lestrange chuckled, "I'm Rabastan, love."

He stuck his arm through the bars towards her, offering her his hand to shake. Hermione eyed the appendage for a moment. She heard the faintest hint of a laugh coming from Rowle's cell across the corridor and Hermione caught the glint in his eyes that said the wizard was trying to have her on.

Willing to play, Hermione stepped closer, propping one of her feet up onto the edge of her bed for leverage. Quick as a cat, she seized his arm and hauled on it until the wizard banged his head against the bars of his cell before dropping him again just as quickly.

"I'm Hermione," she told the cursing wizard sweetly while everyone else in the prison began to laugh at his misfortune, "You keep your hands to yourself and we'll get along just fine."

"You feisty little bitch," Rabastan accused.

"Yeah, take that fucker," Neville cheered, "Right on, Hermione. Gods, I've missed having a feisty witch around."

"You say that now," Hermione laughed, taking the bag of things Entwhistle handed her and dumping everything out of it to begin arranging her cell to her liking, "But let's see if you still feel that way when you've got to see my face every day and listen to my voice for the rest of our lives."

"Better than the rest of these fuckers," Rabastan told her, looking rather amused by what she'd done to him even as his face began to swell slightly.

"Well if that isn't just the sweetest line I've ever heard," Hermione tolled her eyes.

"Oooh, you're going to be a world of fun to play with, witch," the dark wizard told her, eyeing her through the bars as she began setting up her things, "Oi, you got more stuff than us."

"If you're referring to these," Hermione said, lifting the box of tampons she'd been given, "I can guarantee you don't want them, Lestrange."

"Whatcha got, Granger?" Nott called out as Proudfoot locked Hermione's cell behind him and the Aurors both took their leave.

"Tampons," Hermione announced.

"Gross," Carrow sneered.

"Oh yes, positively disgusting," Hermione rolled her eyes to herself, "How foul to have been given something to soak up the blood that will expel from my uterus every month rather than bloodying up the floor, the sheets and just about everything else in reach for five days every month. Positively wretched."

She heard a low, deep chuckle from the cell beside hers and Hermione glanced sideways to find Dolohov standing at the bars separating their cells, peering over into her space and watching her unpack even as she muttered to herself.

"You're so feckin' stupid, Carrow," Seamus sneered, "What the fuck else did you think was going to happen for a witch living in a prison cell? Thought they'd just let her bleed everywhere, did you?"

"Say that to my face, cunt!" Carrow snarled back.

"Oh, is that not you're face?" Seamus asked, "My mistake, your face and your arse are feckin' identical."

"If the two of you could set aside the ever-thickening sexual tension until the next time you have the chance to fuck one another in the showers, that would be ideal," Lucius Malfoy's cool voice drawled from the end of the row opposite Nott and beside Seamus – as far from Draco as possible.

"Keep fuckin' talking', Malfoy and I'll get a real good grip on your pretty hair and fuck you stupid," Carrow threatened.

"Oh my god, someone kill him," Hermione grumbled, "I'm already sick of him. Surely one of you idiots can muster enough rage to murder him wandlessly?"

"You're encouraging murder?" Rowle chuckled from behind her, "What happened to the leader of light and fucking sunshine you used to be, Princess?"

"That girl got fucked in the arse by the Ministry and thrown in here with you lot over ridiculous bullshit," Hermione replied, setting her water container up on the ledge of the small window to her cell, effectively blocking the cold wind blowing through it and finding a way to keep the water cool.

"What'd they charge you with, Hermione?" Neville asked from his cell while Hermione went about laying the Ministry guidebook and her toiletries on the small wooden bench mounted on the wall.

"Six counts of murder, one count of assault. Grand theft for breaking into Gringotts and robbing the Lestrange vault before commandeering a Gringotts dragon. Use of the Unforgiveable Curses. Possession of illicit substances. Resisting arrest. Fraud over impersonation Ministry officials," Hermione listed of her crimes and she stored her loo paper next to the pitiful excuse for a lavatory she was expected to use during her stay.

It was nestled behind the little wall created by the bed mounted on the wall of the cell, but was still completely visible from all sides if Rowle, Dolohov or Lestrange wanted to perve on her while she peed.

"You name it Neville, and that bitch threw it at me," Hermione went on as she moved back towards the bed, unloading the sheets and the blanket to begin making up the cot.

"Yeah, she screwed all of us over the same way," Neville sighed.

"Didn't have much choice but to plead guilty either, so, you know, I kind of knew they'd be throwing me in here. When that became clear, I wasn't about to let that hag keep breathing free air when I couldn't," Hermione told the boy, talking loud enough that Seamus, and Kingsley would be able to hear her.

"You broke into my Gringotts vault?" Rabastan asked through the bars.

"Yeah," Hermione grinned at him, "One of Voldemort's horcruxes was stored inside it. Griphook betrayed us once we were incised when Harry had to use the Imperius curse on the bank manager to get him to cooperate, so we got busted down there. The security guards were throwing curses at us and the only plan of escape I could come up with on such short notice was to ride the dragon guarding the vault all the way out of the catacombs."

"That pitiful thing could still fly?" Lestrange asked, frowning, "I always thought it was stuck in the job of guarding the vaults because it was blind and couldn't fly anymore."

Hermione shook her head, "He could fly. He wasn't blind, either, just severely malnourished and kept in the bowels on that place so long that he was practically translucent."

"Blimey. You flew on the back of that thing?" Lestrange asked, shaking his head.

Hermione nodded at him, seeing what Proudfoot had meant. With the Dementors no longer guarding the prison, Lestrange seemed downright chipper. Then again, he'd spent a good portion of his life sitting in a cell just like the one he currently inhabited. Maybe he felt like he was at home.

"You seem awful chipper for a witch who was just unfairly sentenced to life in prison, Princess," Rowle commented from where he leaned against the bars at the front of his own cell.

Hermione turned toward him slowly as she finished making her bed.

"I won't be here that long," Hermione smirked at the big blonde wizard.

"You're high on the rush of killing Umbridge, more like," he told her, "That'll wear off and then my favourite little lioness is going to cry."

Hermione wondered idly if he was right.

"We'll see," Hermione told him, shrugging her shoulders, "So, what do we do for fun around here?"

"Seriously, Granger?" Theo Nott snorted from his cell down the row.

"What? You're telling me there's absolutely no fun to be had in this place?" she asked, chuckling slightly.

"Come here, love, and I'll show you a good time," Lestrange said, reaching through the bars separating their cells.

"Maybe some other time, Lestrange," Hermione rolled her eyes, "I don't trust you not to slam me into the bars after what I did to you."

"Clever little thing, aren't you?" he chuckled, "But if you go ahead and take that jump-suit off, I won't lay a harmful finger on you, love."

"Are you always this charming, or is it my lucky day?" Hermione asked, slanting a rather amused grin at him despite his affiliation during the war.

"Prison rules 101, love," Rabastan winked at her, "Learn to get along with the neighbours, or you're fucked. So I'm just getting warmed up."

"Fantastic," Hermione grumbled rolling her eyes and beginning to pace out the size of her cell.

As she did, Hermione tried her hardest to ignore the way Dolohov shadowed her up and down the length of her cell, never speaking, but constantly there in the corner of her vision. Across the cell, Rowle watched her as well, similarly silent as he watched her pace while Rabastan began throwing out outrageous line after outrageous pickup line, laughing at his own jokes and seeming to amuse himself entirely. She ignored the way the hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she counted out the feet width and lengthwise of her new living quarters. She also did her damnedest to ignore the predatory gleam in the eyes of all three wizards surrounding her cell as they watched her move.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'm so thrilled y how many of you are interested in this story. I hope you enjoying it and can't wait to see what you make of this chapter =)  
**

* * *

 **Jailbird Blues**

 _By Kittenshift17  
_

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 **Chapter 4**

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"Right then, who's going to be the one to say it?" Carrow asked sometime later when Hermione was tiring of pacing her cell and already beginning to feel the need to climb the walls.

She was ready to murder Rabastan for the way he kept on with his silly jokes and lines, constantly guffawing at his own inane witticisms, even if some of them were rather funny. She was barely resisting the urge to flick hexes as Rowle and Dolohov for the way they never took their eyes off her. She suspected the high of committing murder was – as Rowle had warned it would – beginning to wear off. She was feeling more and more like a cat in a cage and she wanted out.

Everyone seemed to ignore Carrow's words, and Hermione got the feeling that even among his fellow Death Eaters, the wizard was not well-liked.

"No one?" he asked, "No one is going to bring it up?"

"Carrow?" Lucius Malfoy's voice asked, "If you'd be so kind as to choke on your own tongue, we'd all be ever so grateful."

Hermione snorted at the man's words. Even when he was being rude he was still polite about it.

"There you go with that mouth again, Lucius," Carrow sneered, clearly pleased that someone was going to engage him, "Don't worry though, with the new little witch on the block, I hardly think anyone will be interested in fucking you when we can all fuck her. Yeah, I reckon that little mudblood bitch is going to squeal like a stuck pig when I shove my prick right up her arse."

"If you so much as lay a filthy hand on her, Carrow," Seamus began after full minute of complete silence, even Rabastan falling quiet of his own amusements at the man's cruel words, "I'll cut both of 'em off and fist you with 'em, yeah?"

"What's the matter, pretty boy?" Carrow taunted, "She your girlfriend? Worried she'll prefer the cock of a real man over that pathetic excuse for one you've got down your trousers?"

"We'll see how pathetic it is when I fuck you to death with it, cunt," Seamus snarled in return.

"Oooh, and he's touchy about it too. Yeah, I'm going to bend that little whore over and watch her scream. You reckon she'll fight me, Finnegan? I like it when they fight."

Neville, Seamus and Kingsley all began snarling threats at the wizard from their respective cells, and Hermione could tell the twisted prick was enjoying engaging them all in the verbal spar as he continued to detail even more vulgar things he'd like to do to her.

"Scared yet, Princess?" Thorfinn Rowle asked her in a low voice from across the row when Hermione walked to the front of her cell, her hands gripping the bars so tightly that her knuckles went white.

Yes, she was beginning to get scared. She was surrounded by men, and for all that her fellow Order and DA members were threatening violence on her behalf, she noticed that none of the Death Eaters spoke up to protest the foul things Carrow was saying he would do to her. More to the point, she'd told Entwhistle that she would play nice and let them all shag her, intent on following Madame Pomfrey's directive about trying to fall pregnant as soon as humanly possible to secure her freedom all the faster.

In theory, that made a world of sense to her, and even her logical and frank discussion with Entwhistle about entertaining these men and allowing them all to have sex with her had left her feeling slightly used, but nonetheless on board with the decision.

Listening to Carrow detail some of the truly terrible things he would enjoy doing to her body, however, and feeling the weight of Dolohov's gaze upon her, were making her reconsider the notion. It was one thing to entertain the concept of consenting to sex if the Aurors would be willing to ensure they did so politely, in a restrained sort of fashion for the purpose of intimacy and sexual release. It was entirely another to hear a man detailing the way he wanted to cram his cock inside of her so hard that her insides would bleed, whilst describing how he intended to attempt putting his whole fist up her bum.

Hermione was no stranger to the inner workings of intercourse. It was a very little known fact that while her friends had been experiencing their first kisses, she'd been engaging in sex. She had given her virginity to Viktor Krum at the end of her fourth year and it wasn't a decision she regretted. She had also been in an extremely secretive relationship with Fred and George Weasley for the length of her fifth year.

No one knew about that aside from Fred, George and Hermione herself. And with Fred dead, the secret belonged only to her and George. She had dated them both in secret – with full disclosure between the three of them in a triad arrangement. While Harry had been getting his first kiss with Cho, Hermione had been figuring out how it felt to be spit-roasted by two wizards at the same time. While Ginny had begun courting Terry Boot or Michael Corner, Hermione had been learning the intimacies of being double-teamed - as Fred and George had called it – experimenting with simultaneous anal and vaginal sex.

Two boys at one time had been the extent of her knowledge, and things had broken off when Fred and George had left school before finishing, though the occasional late-night romp between the three of them had still occurred at Grimmauld Place and the Burrow during the holidays of her sixth year. Theirs had been a causal yet intimate arrangement spent learning the intricacies of two boys sharing one girl.

She knew what it was to share her body with two wizards, and in theory she had rationalised that having sex with her fellow inmates would be manageable if Entwhistle kept to their bargain and everyone was polite and responsible about it. In theory it was achievable and logically she knew it made sense. The sooner she got pregnant, the sooner she could get out of this hell-hole.

In practice, however, Hermione was staring across the cell at the likes of Thorfinn Rowle - a man who'd tried to kill her more than once. He was a huge Viking of a wizard, easily six foot five, he towered of her five foot four by more than a foot. He was strapping and powerfully built. He was imposing, he was violent and he could easily hurt her. Were she to find herself locked in a room with him and were he to decide to do to her some of the things that Carrow was describing, there would be little she could do to stop him, even with her ability to practice wandless magic.

In theory things made sense. In practice, her inside were clenching with a twisted combination of fear, dread and anticipation all rolled into one. The others, Hermione believed she could handle. Seamus, Neville and Kingsley would all be polite about it if and when the time came that she would be having sex with them. George was a given and if she was being honest, Hermione looked forward to returning to the redhead's arms. Similarly the likes of Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott – both of whom had been in her year and who'd tried to defect at the end of the war – were unlikely to force themselves on her. Not when they knew she could do wandless magic and was fierce in her own right.

Lucius Malfoy, she very much doubted would ever have sex with her. He was too prejudiced and entirely too in love with his wife. If it came to it that he truly couldn't resist the urge for intimacy and release, Hermione suspected the man would politely asked her permission before ravishing her and that he would be cordial about the entire thing.

Carrow, of course, was blacklisted and would never be laying a finger on her if Hermione could help it. The other three were her concern. Rowle and Dolohov had both tried to kill her and had both been watching her with the predatory hunger of starving caged beasts since the minute she'd come into view on this cell-block. Lestrange could go either way. He had seemed entirely playful and mostly harmless thus far with his silly jokes and pickup lines, but she didn't doubt that a dark and twisted soul dwelt within him should he decide he wanted to fuck her and wouldn't be taking no for an answer.

The thought that at some stage she would shag each of them individually, some combination of the three in a triad or all three of them at the same time titillated and terrified her in equal measure. But she couldn't really tell them that and give away her fear, now could she? Staring into Rowle's eyes, she pretended to mull over his question about being scared.

"Since I'm not Carrow's sister, I doubt he'll even be able to get it up for me," Hermione said finally.

"Oooh," came the collective response from the gathered group at her brave words.

"Right here, bitch," Carrow called from down the corridor and Hermione curled her lip in distaste when he flopped his scrotum right out of his clothing and stuck it between the bars, showing her that he was already erect with the things he planned to do to her.

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione focused her magic and snapped her fingers. She felt a smug smile crawl across her face when the wretched bastard began to howl as the stinging jinx connected with his cock.

"Right on, Hermione!" Seamus began to cheer as the Death Eater began to writhe in agony, "Take that you twisted fucking cunt, Carrow!"

"Let me know if he gets a priapism, won't you Seamsus?" Hermione asked.

"What's a priapism?" Rowle asked, his brow furrowing.

"Means he'll stay hard – painfully so – without any stimuli. If it lasts long enough, he'll get gangrene and infected until his cock rots right off," Hermione smiled toothily, "The blood loses oxygen, and the blood cells get damaged. Being that I also hexed him, causing the entire area to swell even more, he's in danger of having his cock split right open like a hotdog left in the heat too long."

Rowle winced, cupping his own groin as though it suddenly pained him.

"Vulgar as he is, love," Lestrange spoke up from the cell beside hers, drawing her gaze, "The harsh reality is that you're sharing a cell-block with eleven blokes. We're all serving life. No one is getting out of this place. And a man has needs."

"Seeing as how none of you are amputees, I'd have thought you have the required equipment to see to those needs yourselves, Lestrange?" Hermione asked coolly.

"Ah, wanking's only good for so long, love. Especially with a pretty little witch like you right here," Rabastan told her.

"Planning on crawling through the bars to get me, Lestrange?" she asked, raising her eyebrows, "I know that I fit through them, but none of you will."

"What do you mean you fit through them, Hermione?" Neville asked sharply.

"They're wide enough that I can squeeze through," Hermione told him, "Watch."

She'd noticed it the minute she entered the cell. The bars were spaced about ten inches apart and with the amount of weight she'd lost whilst on the run and being starved in her holding cell, Hermione was thin enough to slip through them. Working her head through the gaps carefully, Hermione twisted her body to fit one breast and then the other through the bars before sliding loose until she stood in the walkway rather than inside her cell.

"What are you still doing here, Hermione?" Neville asked, "You're free. Run for it while the Aurors are gone."

Hermione had already thought about that.

"I can't," Hermione told him seriously, "The elevators are wand activated, not magic activated. You've got to have a wand to make them open, sticking them into this hole here, like a key."

She strolled the length of the hallway to the lift.

"See?" she pointed, "And you've got to do the same on the inside to make the elevator go back to the ground floor. Trust me love, one of the first things I noticed was how easy or difficult it would be to slip back out of this place and disappear."

"So you're stuck even if you can walk the corridor?" Draco Malfoy asked quietly.

"Looks that way. For now," Hermione nodded, glancing at the blonde boy she'd been to school with. He was paler than usual as he stared back at her, his blonde hair growing long and beginning to hang into his eyes despite the relatively short length of his stay since his life sentence was delivered.

"Regardless, love," Lestrange told her, "Eleven blokes. One witch. A communal shower. It might take some of these noble fuckers like Longbottom there a while before they begin pining for your undoubtedly-tight cunt and day-dreaming about how it would be better than their own hand, but I guarantee, we're all thinking it."

"I like to think that every man I meet would prefer to shag me than to wank," Hermione told the wizard idly, strolling along the row once more and peering into each cell as she went. She stopped outside Neville's cell to reach through the bars and card her fingers through his hair, craving the physical intimacy of touching someone again after so long spent in her holding cell.

"Come on in here and I'll be happy to prove that theory correct, Princess," Thorfinn told her, smirking at her as he reached through the bars towards her.

"And here I thought you said you'd try to kill me again if there weren't bars separating us, Thorfinn," Hermione needled the man.

"Wasn't specific on how I'd do it, now was I?" he smirked it returned, "And you'd look right pretty choking on my cock, Baby-girl."

"From what I recall of your cock, Rowle, I think I'd break my jaw trying to fit it in my mouth, let alone managing to choke on it," Hermione said seriously, recalling the brief glimpse she'd gotten of his anatomy seven years ago.

"You know it, Kitten," he chuckled smugly, "Come on through these bars and we'll see how you handle it."

"Hmmm," Hermione tapped her chin, "Willingly entered the cell of a man who's tried to kill me whilst he's threatening sexual violence. Oh yes, sounds like a solid and logical course of action."

"You're still a cheeky brat, witch," he accused her, chuckling.

"Oi, Granger?" Theo called out from the other end of the corridor, "I've never tried to kill you or threatened sexual violence, come on into my cell."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You've barely even been in here a month, Theo, and you're already sexually depraved," she laughed at him.

"He was that way before he got locked up," Malfoy drawled from the opposite end of the hall, "Man's a nymphomaniac."

"Not afraid of mudblood filth anymore, Nott?" Hermione asked.

"Not if you get in here and let me have my way with you, witch," he retorted, smirking at her wickedly.

"You realise they're never going to stop hounding you for sex now that they know you can come and go from every cell, right Hermione?" Neville asked her seriously.

"They'll tire eventually," Hermione shrugged, "How have you been, really?"

"Been locked in here with these fuckers," Neville scoffed, his language – like Seamus's – apparently having gone to hell, "Edgecombe's a fucking bitch too. If I ever get loose whilst she's here, I'll strangle that whore. Put me right across from that bastard _knowing_ what he did to my parents."

"How many times have I got to say that I didn't have a hand in that, Longbottom?" Lestrange asked from behind her, "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I got caught and tossed into this fuckhole for something I never even committed."

"As though you haven't killed and tortured anyone?"

"Oh, are we back to comparing kill tallies again?" Lestrange smirked, "What was that number of yours again, kid? Five hundred and fourteen people dead – most of them not even branded Death Eaters, just snatchers and sympathizers to the cause or those bullied, coerced or Imperiused into joining the Dark Lord."

"Better than murdering forty-three innocent people and torturing countless others until they lost their minds," Neville shot back, glaring hatefully at Lestrange.

"Po-tay-to, pot-tah-to, kid," Lestrange shrugged.

"I'm rather looking forward to Edgecombe coming by to witness my incarceration," Hermione admitted to Neville, leaning against the bars between his cell and Kingsley's beside his. Both wizards moved with her, touching her in harmless ways. Kingsley took her hand and worked his fingers through hers, taking comfort in the simple touch. Neville threaded a hand through her hacked curls and leaned towards her until his forehead rested against hers.

She could almost feel both men drawing strength from the touch. She had read about that. The requirement witches and wizards had for each other, not just on a sexual level, but on a much baser and more elemental level. It was a requirement that ensured the survival of the species, so to speak. A witch or wizard left untended by someone of the opposite sex for any length of time – even if only tended via the brush of an elbow or a holding of hands – would begin to lose control of their ability to access their magic. Male and female elemental magic – the magic stored in their very blood that allowed them to practice magic at all and to interact with the magical world – was vital to their existence.

By holding her hand or touching her skin, the magic inside of her brushed against the magic inside each wizard touching her. She didn't fully understand how it worked, but she knew that if a witch or wizard went too long without touching a person of the opposite sex – even in a non-sexual way – their core magic would grow unstable and erratic. Certain traits of the caster would be enhanced – such as a proclivity toward violent outbursts of accidental magic, or a losing of oneself toward darker forms of magic. If the caster went long enough without interacting with other magical beings – particularly of the opposite sex – they would eventually lose their ability to cast altogether.

Hermione suspected it had something to do with the idea that if there were only one gender of a certain race left, they would need to conform toward muggle abilities to continue living. She'd read too that in cases were magical people were deprived of such contact were put into situations with muggles and they reproduced, the likelihood of magical birth increased ten-fold. Something about the way the magic worked meant it diminished until a witch or wizard was forced to seek human contact with muggles, but the powers would come streaming back as soon as someone of the opposite sex was born to that witch or wizard's bloodline.

An in-built survival-of-the-species safety net, as it were.

Recalling that she was the only witch on this floor of the prison and that though others like Edgecombe might stop in, Hermione realised it would fall to her touch all of the wizards in this place if she wanted to ensure they didn't lose their magic. More importantly, it meant that if she were to avoid certain individuals, they would eventually be driven to touch her however they could. Sex Magic would likely come into play then. Non-sexual touching allowed the effects, but sex certainly increased it. Having sex with someone meant that their bodies and their magic would brush together and thus stabilise the magic within each person.

"Why would you look forward to seeing that bitch?" Neville asked her, his eyes closed as he essentially recharged his magical batteries simply by touching her.

"Because when I do I'm going to pull all those curls from her ugly little head," Hermione replied sweetly, "I should've put a much more severe curse on that parchment in fifth year. Could've killed the bitch before she ever became a problem."

"Blood thirsty little thing, aren't you, love?" Lestrange asked from behind her, "Aren't you supposed to be the embodiment of mudbloods and Light?"

"Lestrange?" Neville asked before Hermione could bother answering, "Do me a favour and just shut the fuck up for five minutes yeah? Your voice is annoying as shit."

Hermione heard most of the other prisoners snort and laugh in amusement. Carrow was still whimpering from his cell.

"I'm just saying," Lestrange argued, "If I'd known that Undesirable Number Two looked this delectable and had such a bloodthirsty nature, I'd have spent more of the war trying to hunt her down myself."

"Well then I'm oh so glad for your ignorance," Hermione told the man, "If I'd had to listen to your voice that much sooner, I'm sure I'd have murdered you."

"Sweet talkin' me, love?" Lestrange asked, "Hey, swing some of that touch-feely shit my way, yeah?"

"Why would I do that?" Hermione asked him, "You're still looking to get revenge after I slammed your head against the cell bars."

"I might be persuaded to forgive you for it if you'll slip through the bars and give me an hour, love," Lestrange drawled in return.

"I see that your last stay in prison certainly did a number on your mental faculties, Lestrange," Hermione replied, feeling the push and pull of Kingsley's magic against hers.

The brush of it brought to mind the image of long summer days spent laying on a beach.

Neville's magic brought to mind the smell of a greenhouse, alive with plants and teaming with life. She could almost see the wizard amid the plants and soil, could almost hear him humming a jaunty tune – singing to a Babbling Begonia or something equally amusing.

"You're like…" Kingsley murmured softly, his thumb smoothing over the back of her hand.

"The comfort of a soft chair by a fire," Neville picked up the sentence, "In a library. When I touch you, I feel like I'm back at Hogwarts in the library by one of the fireplaces, reading in an armchair."

"Exactly," Kingsley nodded his head, "I can feel the books and the heat of the fire."

Hermione smiled, pleased to learn what her magical signature felt like to others. She'd learned early on that touching someone would call to mind the brush of their magic against hers and a mental image that reflected their soul. Fred and George, she knew most intimately, both felt like mischief. Every time she touched either of them, it had called to mind the sight of an open and unguarded cookie jar on a high shelf, just waiting to be raided.

Harry had always called to mind the image of a Quidditch pitch and the feeling of flying. Ron had always made her think of lazy days spent at the Burrow, lounging around in pyjamas and just relaxing completely. She loved getting a read on the magical signature of those she encountered and she'd been told off once in her second year for being so touchy with people who didn't feel like being touched by the inquisitive witch.

"Glad you're enjoying me," Hermione grinned, well aware of how suggestive her words happened to be.

"Hard not to, Hermione," Neville replied, "I feel like I've been locked up in this fucking cell forever. How long has it been since the battle, do you know?"

"A few months," Hermione told him softly, "It's the middle of August."

"Fuck," Neville sighed, "No wonder I feel like shit."

"You don't look too bad, all things considered," Hermione replied, "Did they give you a razor to shave?"

"We've all got a straight razor," Neville nodded his head, "But the Aurors don't let us access them unless we're in the bathroom and they can control us so we don't try to kill each other."

"They didn't used to care about that," Lestrange muttered, "Until Longbottom tried to cut my throat. See what he did to me, love?"

Hermione turned to look over her shoulder, noticing that Lestrange had lifted his chin, exposing his throat where a long, still healing slash could be seen across his neck.

"You did that to him?" Hermione asked, turning back to Neville.

"The bastard deserves it after what he did to my parents," Neville said, though he looked a little bit guilty about it.

"So much for learning to play nice with your neighbours, eh?" Hermione chuckled.

"She's laughing," Rabastan demanded, "Witch, your little boyfriend there tried to slit my throat and you're laughing about it? I thought you were part of the Sunshine Squad, all about elf rights and the sanctity of life."

"Did you miss the part where I said I was charged with five counts of murder, Rabastan?" Hermione asked without looking at the wizard, "Or the bit where I literally pulled every drop of blood from Umbridge's body and painted the courtroom floor with it."

"Yeah, but that bitch deserved it."

"In Neville's eyes, so did you," Hermione retorted.

"I didn't even fucking touch his parents!" Lestrange argued, "That was all Bella."

"Your wand showed the Cruciatus curse as well, I've read your arrest files," Hermione told the man.

"Yeah, because I'd been at a gathering held by the Dark Lord prior to his downfall where I'd been instructed to teach some of his disobedient followers to fall in line," Lestrange argued, "I hadn't used it since then until I laid that fucking trap for Bella, trying to get myself, my brother and Barty free of the crazy bitch without her killing all of us. Who do you think tipped off the Aurors that we'd be there? Only then Rodolphus wouldn't fucking listen when I was trying to drag him away because he was besotted with that heartless cunt of a witch, and we were all caught! The only one who laid a wand on either Auror Longbottom was Bellatrix and I've spent fifteen fucking years sitting in this Merlin cursed cell paying for a crime I didn't even fucking commit!"

Everyone was silent for a long moment after his tirade, as though they didn't know what to make of the genuine anger and indignation in his voice and the sincerity of his tale.

"You're telling me you never wanted to be a Death Eater?" Hermione asked, turning towards the wizard slowly as she extracted herself from Neville and Kingsley's hold.

"Oh, I took my fucking mark with pride and I served the Dark Lord well," Rabastan told her, shaking his head, "But I hated my sister-in-law with a depth and passion you can't even begin to fathom, little girl."

"Why didn't you just kill her?" Hermione asked, tipping her head to one side as she regarded the man, she strolled across the narrow walkway separating Rabastan's cell from Neville's, "It's not as though you're some stranger to committing murder."

"Because the Dark Lord adored the crazy bitch," Rabastan shrugged, "I wasn't about to draw his wrath by killing his favourite follower. And once he was defeated in Godric's Hollow, I contemplated it every day. Trouble is, mad as the bitch was, she was fiery too and my brother was besotted with his wife. I thought the threat of prison would shatter what little bond there was between them, but I thought wrong. He refused to leave her side, and I wasn't quick enough with my Killing Curse before the Aurors disarmed me. After we were freed, the Dark Lord was back and he wouldn't condone Bella's murder."

"There'd have been plenty of opportunities to murder her when he wasn't around. I hardly think you'd have had trouble getting away with it," Hermione said, moving close enough that she could reach into Draco Malfoy's cell but was out of reach of Rabastan as she spoke to him.

Malfoy regarded her coolly but for the curiosity glittering in his eyes when Hermione stuck her hand through the bars of his cell, palm up, offering him the chance to recharge his magic if he wanted to. He looked like he didn't entirely believe his eyes as he stared at her for a long moment before he slowly took her hand inside both of his. Hermione was surprised when he lifted the appendage to his face, pressing her palm to his cheek and leaning into the touch, his grey eyes closing and a small sigh escaping him.

"You heard the part where I fucked up getting my own brother and idiot best friend out of a house to leave that bitch to be caught or killed by Aurors, right?" Rabastan asked her, narrowing his eyes on her interaction with Draco.

"Remind me not to put you in charge of the escape attempt plans, Lestrange," Hermione chuckled quietly at his own self-deprecation.

Hermione noticed idly that when Malfoy's magic brushed against hers it called to mind a snowy forest and rolling hills blanketed in pristine white powder. Where Kingsley's sunny beach magic had warmed her, Malfoy's magic felt like a snow day, chilly, but with the vaguest hints of mischief and adventure thrown in. It was most peculiar, to be cold and excited at the same time. Beneath her palm, Hermione could feel the faintest scratch of facial hair along his jaw and found herself surprised. Taking her eyes off Lestrange, Hermione squinted at Malfoy, shocked to see there were white-blonde hairs, fine as spider-silk, dusting his pointed jaw.

"You do feel like a library," he murmured to her, his eyes still closed as he held her hand to his face, "I can practically smell the books."

"And here I thought I smelled like them because I was always carrying so many," Hermione chuckled quietly.

He blinked his eyes open slowly at her words, his grey eyes focusing on her face carefully.

"Why are you letting me touch you, Granger?" he asked, "We're hardly friends."

Hermione shrugged, "I know you were coerced into most of the things you did as a Death Eater. And brainwashed about blood prejudice before that. You saw the light, in the end."

"You're forgiving me for what a wretch I've been to you since I was eleven?" he asked, clearly shocked.

"Harry forgave you too, you know?" Hermione said softly, holding his gaze as she nodded, "After we pulled you from the Room of Requirement and the Fiendfyre, he forgave you, even though you ran. He realised that you were just a victim of circumstance, same as he was."

Hermione saw the way his bottom lip quivered at her kind words and she smiled gently at the platinum haired wizard. Using her grip on his cheek, Hermione pulled him forwards until she could press a kiss to his forehead, feeling the way he began to tremble.

"Why?" he whispered.

"Why am I forgiving you?" Hermione clarified, "Because I'm tired of holding grudges against people who haven't done that much to earn my hatred. Now, Umbridge? That bitch deserved what she got. And Edgecombe, when her comeuppance comes, she'll deserve what I do to her too. You? You protected us when you didn't have to. You lied for us to keep us from being handed to Voldemort on a silver platter. You didn't fight other than for appearance-sake when we escaped. If not for your lack of fight when Harry grabbed all those wands from you that day, he'd never have been able to Kill Voldemort. Without what you did, Draco, the world would look very different indeed."

"Wouldn't be sitting in jail cells though, would we?" he muttered bitterly.

"I don't plan to sit in mine for long," Hermione grinned secretively at him, "Might be, if you play your cards right, that I'll bust you out of here with me when I go, along with that lot."

Hermione jerked her thumb towards Neville and Kingsley.

"You have a plan to get out of here?" he asked, his eyes red and a little wet when he opened them once more to meet her gaze.

"I have several plans for getting out of here, Malfoy," Hermione rolled her eyes at him, "They don't call me that brightest witch our age for nothing, you know?"

"Did you really kill Umbridge with blood magic in front of the entire Wizengamot?" he asked her, "Without a wand?"

Hermione nodded her head.

"What other wandless magic can you do?" he asked in a low voice, one of his hands leaving her wrist and reaching for her as though he couldn't help himself. When he did as Neville had done and slipped his fingers into her short curls, Hermione didn't protest.

"Depends on how much I've been given to eat, how tired I am and what kind of magic I'm trying to perform. I couldn't do anything like a Bombarda to bust out of here, but I can keep gits like this one," she nodded towards Lestrange, who had moved closer and was reaching through the bars between his cell and Draco's, trying to grab Hermione, "From having their way with me if I decide I'm not in the mood."

"And when you _are_ in the mood, witch?" Rabastan asked, catching her words and ceasing his lunging to stare at her.

"Oh, I'm sure I could find someone more agreeable to see to my needs," Hermione smirked at the wizard.

"I'll help you out with that anytime you like," Rowle called, clearly hearing what they were saying.

"You're so kind, Thorfinn," Hermione rolled her eyes at Malfoy, "Just what I want, a Neanderthal the size of a bloody giant manhandling me and impaling me on his huge cock."

"You just say the word or come on in here, Princess," Thorfinn replied, laughing at her sarcastic tone, "Won't take too long before you start craving me, witch. You get full view at every glorious inch of me for the rest of your life. I bet it takes less than a week before you're climbing through the bars of my cell, begging to ride my cock."

"Were you incarcerated while the Dementors were still guarding this place too?" Hermione asked mildly, "You're as deluded as Lestrange."

A low, cruel laugh emitted from the cell beyond Hermione's and Hermione felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Dolohov.

"Just let me fuck you already, Granger?" Lestrange asked, sounding exasperated, "No way can I take being your neighbour and seeing into your cell for the rest of my fucking life without shagging you."

"Don't you know the joy of anticipation, Lestrange?" Hermione asked the wizard, grinning at him, "You've only just met me. We've got the rest of our lives."

"I will convince you to come in here, you know?" he warned her, "And if I can't, well, there's always that communal shower."

"And we're back to the threats," Hermione sighed, "Death Eaters are so predictable."

"Hey, I tried asking nicely!" Lestrange complained.

"Nicely?" Neville scoffed, "You're supposed to have been raised as a gentleman, Lestrange. Forgot your manners stuck in that cell, did you?"

"Oh, well why don't you show us how it fucking looks to use manners then, fucker?" Lestrange snapped, obviously losing his good mood.

"Yeah, maybe I will," Neville said, "Hermione?"

"Yes, Neville?" Hermione asked, turning away from Draco to face Neville. She noticed as she did that Malfoy moved up behind her until he was pressed to the bars of his cell as well and Hermione would swear he'd stuck his nose into her hair and begun breathing her in, one of his hands slipping through hers politely.

"Will you please come into my cell?" Neville asked politely.

"Of course," Hermione smiled, squeezing Malfoy's hand before crossing the walkway once more.

She slipped between the bars of Neville's cell until she stood inside his space along with him.

"I was only joking, 'Mione," Neville chuckled even as he tugged her into a proper, full bodied hug, unimpeded by the bars of the cell.

"Oh, that's fucking bollocks!" Rabastan protested, "If you shag him in there right where I can see, witch, you better recognise that I'm going to sit here and wank and catcall you while you do it."

"Does he ever shut up?" Hermione asked Neville when she pulled back to grin at him.

"Sometimes the Aurors using a Silencing Charm on him to keep him quiet," Neville grinned back, "Proudfoot hates it when he won't shut it.

"Fuckers," Lestrange muttered darkly.

"What are we doing to get out of here then?" Neville wanted to know, "I mean, I have an idea…"

Hermione grinned when he turned her so that only Kingsley would be able to see his face before he opened his mouth slightly and showed her a mandrake leaf being stored under his tongue.

"Funny, I have the same idea," Hermione grinned at him in return.

"Kings, Seamus and I have been working on that idea for a while now," Neville nodded his head, "Reckon with you here it might go a bit faster. Got any other ideas if that one falls through?"

"I don't intend for it to fail," Hermione said, moving over to sit on the edge of Neville's cot so she could still see Neville – who sat opposite her, stretching his legs out before pulling her feet into his lap casually – whilst still being able to see Kingsley – who reached his arm trough the bars to play with her curls like he couldn't help himself.

"I've yet to see you fail at anything magical yet," Neville agreed, "I was more concerned about the rest of us, if we can't pull it off?"

"Do you actually believe that if and when I manage to get out of this place, I won't be returning to bust you guys out?" Hermione asked, frowning at him, "I broke into Gringotts, the most secure building in the wizarding world. I think I could handle a prison-break."

"You'd come back for us?" Neville asked her, grinning widely.

"I don't abandon my friends, you idiot," Hermione rolled her eyes, "You've been locked up too long – forgotten what I'm like."

"What if you pull it off and you're… too large for escape?" Neville asked, shooting a glance at Rowle where he was still eavesdropping from the bars of his cell.

"My patronus is an otter," Hermione reminded him in a whisper, "They're almost always the same thing, unless some drastic personality change alters it."

"You've committed cold-blooded murder since you last produced a patronus, Hermione," Kingsley reminded her, "And via blood magic, no less. That will alter your core magic rather drastically."

"You think?" Hermione asked, alarmed by the notion, "I don't know if I can create one without a wand. Hang on, let me try."

She was acutely aware of Lestrange, Rowle and Dolohov all staring at her. Dolohov had to stare through the bars of her cell, and Thorfinn's to see into Neville's, but she knew he was staring at her. She could feel his gaze like a wretched itch between her shoulder blades. He hadn't spoken a single word since her arrival, but he hadn't taken his eyes off her either. She wasn't at all looking forward to the idea of living in a cell right beside his where he would be able to watch her every move. Hell, every time she used the loo, he'd be able to see her. Every time she slept, he'd be able to see her.

Urgh. That idea made her uncomfortable. Rowle wasn't much better and thus far Rabastan had simply proved to be a chatterbox liable to throw a tantrum. But the idea of Dolohov watching her sleep made her uncomfortable. She shook her head, putting the unsettling ideas out of her mind and focused on seeing whether or not she would suffer the wretchedness of a patronus change.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Hermione drew upon her happiest memories, allowing them to feel her up with warmth and glee. She moved her arm in the same sequence she'd have used with her wand in her hand. She could feel the magic filling her up inside and she had to push with her mind to project it from her hand, smiling widely when bright white light burst from the palm of her hand.

"Holy shit, Princess," Rowle commenting as her patronus took shape, taking corporeal form, "That's mage level shit if you do it wandless."

"You really are brilliant, you know?" Neville commented, watching the way her patronus frolicked around the room with a little smile on his face.

"Thanks," Hermione smiled at her fellow DA survivor.

"It's certainly changed in shape from a cute and playful otter, hasn't it?" Neville noted, watching the much larger animal-shaped patronus move.

Hermione herself was surprised by the change that had been wrought upon her magical signature.

"Rather defeats the purpose of attempting animagi, doesn't it?" she sighed, "There's no way I'd be able to escape this place in that form."

"You fit through the bars now," Neville pointed out, "No way you will as that."

"I miss my otter," Hermione grumbled, "Kings, what's the symbolism for this one?"

"Strength and confidence," Kingsley mused, "Could also represent standing against adversity. That one is about the importance of healing and rest."

Hermione nodded her head slowly, recalling the same things from the books she had read one the subject of animagi and the symbolism of animals. She supposed, as she watched the enormous form of her Bear patronus lumbering around Neville's cell and then right through the wall and into Rowle's, that the symbolism rather represented her new outlook on life perfectly.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks ever so much for all the love you've been giving this one, you guys. I'm so pleased so many of you are on board for it. Don't forget to climb about the Death Eater Express on FB if you'd like to get sneak peeks on chapters ahead of posting =) Much love! xx-Kitten**

* * *

 **Jailbird Blues**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

* * *

The sound of the elevator groaning alerted Hermione to their impending company.

"You better get back to your cell," Neville told her, nudging her knee to get her moving, "Don't imagine they'll take kindly to the idea of you doing wandless magic and being able to roam outside your cell."

"No I don't imagine that would be useful at all," Hermione agreed, getting to her feet quickly and slipping between the bars of Neville's cell.

She hurried down to the next cell on the opposite side of the corridor before crawling between the bars of her own cell and making it look like she'd been inside it the whole time.

"And just what's to keep me from telling that lot that you can escape whenever it takes your fancy, Princess?" Rowle smirked at her across the row.

Hermione looked the man dead in the eyes as she glared at him.

"Well I imagine that telling them I can get in and out of everyone's cells would see them do something to prevent that," Hermione replied acidly, "And I hardly think you or anyone else in this place actually means to prevent me from being able to crawl into your cell if it strikes my fancy to shag you, does it, Rowle?"

"You're good, Princess," Thorfinn smirked at her, "But how do I know you're ever going to crawl into my cell?"

"Well, that's the beauty, isn't it? You can keep your mouth shut on the off chance that I'll climb in there and spread my thighs for you. Or, you can rat me out and ruin the chance for yourself and everyone else too."

"Keep your fucking mouth shut, Rowle, or _I'll_ crawl through the bars and beat you to death," Rabastan threatened immediately to the sound of laughter from all of the inmates except for Carrow, who was still whimpering and sobbing over the pain in his crotch.

"You better make good on the idea of crawling in here, Kitten," Rowle commented, "If I have to sit around and watch you shag these Order fuckers and not me, I'll rat you out."

"Blackmail already. How predictable," Hermione rolled her eyes, "How about you close your eyes when I'm shagging my fellow inmates and you won't have to see me do it?"

"Not a chance, Baby-girl," he smirked at her.

"Pervert," Hermione accused.

"Vixen," Thorfinn retorted, clearly enjoying himself as he argued with her.

"Moron," Hermione said, feeling no actual anger, even if she had almost been killed by him once.

"Brat," he accused.

"Oh, that's rich, coming from the spoiled pureblood prince," Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Don't be jealous of my bloodline, Kitten," he winked at her, "You climb into my cell and I'll be happy to see it continue through you."

Hermione might've been embarrassed over his offer if it weren't exactly what she planned to do.

"Careful there, Thorfinn," Hermione let a wicked smirk crawl across her face at his words, "I might just take you up on that."

"Ooooh," Lestrange, both Malfoy men and Theo Nott all said in unison.

"Whenever you're ready, Baby-girl," he invited, spreading his arms wide in invitation.

Just at that moment the doors to the elevator creaked open to emit Auror Entwhistle, Auror Proudfoot and a freshly bathed George Weasley.

"George!" Neville called, sounding simultaneously pleased and sympathetic to his being sentenced to life in prison.

George didn't answer Neville or even look in his direction, or Kingsley's, even when Kinsgley reached through the bars and touched his arm. He looked like he was in shock, as though he hadn't been eating, sleeping or even hearing anything that went on around him. Hermione recognised the expression. It was the same blank, confused stare he'd been wearing since Fred's death.

"Hells, how long did they give you, George?" Seamus called, trying to get his attention to greet him too.

George didn't seem to hear them as he was frog-marched up the walkway towards his cell.

"Georgie?" Hermione asked softly, reaching through the bars and catching his hand.

"C'mon Granger, let us lock him away, would you?" Entwhistle sighed.

Hermione ignored the young Auror as she tugged on George's arm, feeling the brush of his magical signature - an unguarded cookie jar filling her mind for a moment. He turned towards the pressure and warmth of her squeezing his hand and pulling him around to face her.

"Come on, Georgie, look at me," Hermione commanded of her bereft ex-boyfriend, using her free hand to cup his cheek and lift his face until he looked at her.

He blinked slowly at the feel of being touched and Hermione surveyed his face critically. He looked like hell. Worse than she did. Worse than any of the other prisoners she'd seen since she'd been looked up. He had dark, bruise-like circle under his eyes. His cheekbones stood out gauntly, making his eyes seem too large for his face, and the eyes were bloodshot and red as though he hadn't been sleeping either. His hair and skin was freshly bathed, his soft red hair cut short, close to his head, no doubt by Madam Pomfrey.

"H'mione?" he asked, a flicker of recognition showing in his eyes. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, as though he hadn't spoken in a long time.

"It's me, love," Hermione nodded, feeling tears prickle behind her eyes to see the state he was in. She could practically feel the tear in his soul where Fred had been ripped away from him.

"Hermione," he whispered, his breath sighing out slowly as he leaned towards the bars of her cell, his hand tightening on hers as he began to show vague signs of life. He rested his forehead against hers for a long moment.

"Saw what you did in the courtroom," he muttered to her, his eyes closed as though being awake and speaking were taxing his strength.

"I couldn't end up here while that bitch was still free after all she'd done," Hermione told him.

"Blood magic, Beautiful?" he asked, "You promised us you wouldn't use that."

"I know. I didn't have much choice," Hermione told him, smiling at the familiar endearment he'd been using for her since she'd been fifteen.

"Missed you," he murmured, opening his eyes to focus on her face once more as though he were drinking in the sight of her.

"I missed you too, Forge," Hermione whispered to him, her eyes filling until tears trickled down her face.

"No, don't cry, Beautiful," George said, rousing himself to reach for her as he slipped his arm around her waist, "I'm supposed to be able to make you laugh, not cry."

The strangled sound between a sob and a laugh left her chest in a painful squeak. Hermione tried to hold it in, trying to be strong, but the sight of the boy she rather loved, bereft of her other love, his identical twin, made her heart ache inside her chest with missing Fred and missing the rest of the Weasleys. With missing Harry and her parents. With the wretchedness of knowing she might very well end up stuck in here forever.

"Told you the high of killing Umbridge would wear off, Kitten," Rowle's voice was quiet from across the row, but Hermione ignored him for the time being, loathing that he'd been right.

"Hey, come on, Beautiful," George whispered to her, "None of that or I'll be forced to snog you into submission."

A hiccup escaped her at the idea even as George's free hand curled around her jaw, tipping her head until she was looking into his familiar brown eyes. She could see the pain within them as he looked at her for a long moment. Pain and the love he felt for her.

"Go on then," she told him in a hoarse whisper of her own, "Do it, or I'll cry all night."

The faintest hint of his usually easy grin pulled at the corners of his mouth even as he lowered it and pressed his lips to her sweetly. Hermione sighed against his familiar lips, revelling in the feel of his magic sliding against her own, feeling the painful sting of Fred's absence just as surely as George did. His tongue swept into her mouth without fear of her rejection and Hermione welcome the sensation as his taste flooded her senses. His arm around her waist tightened, pressing her body against the full length of his through the bars of the cell and Hermione ignored the way Proudfoot had begun attempting to gain their attention and cease their interaction by clearing his throat loudly.

She was surprised when none of the other inmates made a comment or a noise at the snog she shared with George Weasely just then. She's expected lewd comments from the likes of Lestrange and Rowle, maybe something rude spoken in Russian from Dolohov or taunting from Nott or either of the Malfoy wizards. Merlin, she'd even expected a bit of teasing from Neville or Seamus, but none came. Or if it did, it wasn't spoken loudly enough for her to hear it as she drowned herself in the familiarity and comfort of George's lips against her own.

She kissed him until she couldn't think straight, couldn't see straight and couldn't form coherent sentences, stopping on when Entwhistle sighed and tugged at George to pry him off of her.

"Planning on kissing anyone else today, Granger?" the Auror asked her.

"Don't be jealous, Entwhistle," Hermione murmured, her eyes blinking open slowly as she tried to put her thoughts in order, feeling like she was in a daze.

"No more tears, Beautiful," George told her, his lips slightly swollen from the delicious kisses they'd shared even as the Aurors marched him further down the row and into his cell.

"That was hot," Lestrange apparently couldn't resist commenting, but Hermione ignored the wizard, her eyes following George as he was led into his cell where his things – one each carried by the Auror's as though he'd been incapable of doing so himself in his current state before snogging her.

Nibbling her slightly swollen lower lip thoughtfully, Hermione wandered back from the bars to sit on the edge of her bed, being sure to sit forward far enough that Lestrange couldn't reach her, though he tried.

"Blast it all, witch, just a little closer," he muttered, grasping for her through the bars behind her.

Hermione ignored him. The reality of her situation was beginning to sink in and Hermione realised that as soon as humanly possible, she was going to have to begin implement her plan of falling pregnant. The mandrake leaf under her tongue would be of little use to her if she managed animagi only to become a bear. Being a bear wouldn't help her get out of her cell and away from this wretched place. And unless she could seduce one of her guards into being careless enough to let her have a wand, Hermione didn't think she was going to be able to bust out of Azkaban so very easily.

No, it was looking very much like the only way out of this cage was with an extra life growing inside of her. The trouble was the curse Dolohov had used on her that made mensturation so painful and the fact that she'd been on extremely strong contraceptive and ovulation inhibitors since she was fifteen to prevent the side-effects of the curse. She didn't know exactly how long it might take the contraceptive to wear off and she had no idea how long it might be before she was of a nutritional health enough to begin ovulating again, let alone to be able to carry a baby to term.

As she sat on the edge of her small cot, ignoring the way Lestrange managed to push himself far enough through the bars separating their cells that his fingertips skimmed her back very lightly, Hermione resolved herself to the fact that she was going to have to bring her body back up to a level where it would be primed for pregnancy and for the strain of carrying a baby to term. Madame Pomfrey had forced nutritional potions into her alongside all of those to boost her immune system and fix the number of other health problems that had resulted from the lack of nourishment and constant stress of being on the run from the Ministry, fighting in a war and living in a tent.

Her age – not yet twenty – leant her a certain leg-up toward the notion of falling pregnant because she was currently at the age where she was most fertile, most receptive to pregnancy and youthful enough to endure the ravages of the condition. Hermione let her gaze slowly travel over the wizards she could see from her cot. Thanks to the layout of the cells with their half-stone, half-bars for walls, she could see most everyone if they were standing. Her cot face towards the back of the prison, and Hermione could see Dolohov in her direct line of sight.

She was rather unnerved by the sight he made, constantly moving inside his cell to keep himself in line with her. Across from her, Rowle was still standing at the front of his cell, peering in at her as though the sight of her feminine form – even whilst stationary – utterly enthralled him. George was standing inside his own cell and peering out, vaguely taking in the details of his new living quarters. He'd yet to comment on the fact that he was living opposite Antonin Dolohov, but Hermione suspected the time for that would come later when he'd regained his wits a little bit more.

Hermione planned to seduce the wizard just as soon as the lights went out for the night and the rest of the inmates began to snore. Seamus was standing at the bars to his cell as well, trying to engage George in conversation about his trial, about anything that might pass for news or excitement within this dull place. Nott too was inside his cell, smirking occasionally at the whimpers that continued to escape Carrow inside his cell. Lucius Malfoy must have grown bored with the proceedings when he realised their newest resident was George and Hermione couldn't see him inside his cell, suggesting he was lying down.

"What time do we get fed?" Hermione asked, slanting a glance at Rowle across the row.

"Another hour or so," Rowle shrugged at her.

"Right, come on you lot," Proudfoot was saying once they'd locked George in, "Bath time for the lot of you today."

"Yes," Lestrange cheered, "You're in for it now Granger."

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione told the man, smirking at him over her shoulder, "I've already showered twice today and it's Proudfoot. The chances of me being outside this cell and accessible to you with him around are slim to none at the best of times, Lestrange, let alone when I'm all shiny and new after seeing the healer."

"Seriously?" Lestrange whined, "Come on, Entwhistle."

"You're a fuckin' pervert, Lestrange," Entwhistle informed him even as Rabastan, Neville, Kinsgley and Draco began to strip out of their robes.

"Wouldn't it make more sense to do that in the bathroom?" Hermione asked, eyeing the way Lestrange pulled his robes off easily.

They were obviously all used to seeing one another naked and Hermione recalled being told they were sometimes taken in group of two or four.

"Nowhere to put your shit in the bathroom that it won't get wet, Princess," Rowle smirked at her, "It's one big, open room with a bunch of shower heads and nothing else."

"Oh, delightful," Hermione grumbled under her breath.

"It's cold in there too," Lestrange grumbled, "You might find that some of us feel the need to crowd close to better preserve body heat. See anything you like, love?"

Hermione twisted in her sitting position to see that all four now-naked wizards had been freed from their cells and had begun filing past her cell toward the far end of the corridor. She let her eyes slide over each wizard slowly, knowing they were aware of her scrutiny, just as surely as she knew she would be scrutinized in return. She didn't speak at the sight of them all naked. It rather amused her to be seeing Neville in the buff, given that he had been so shy during their time at school together.

He certainly didn't looked shy now and had nothing to be shy about, if she was honest. Against her will, Hermione felt her lips twitch when they were led past her cell.

"Nice arse, Kings," Hermione called as the dark-skinned Auror passed her cell.

She couldn't resist. It was undoubtedly a fine arse.

"Hermione!" Kingsley laughed, glancing over his shoulder, his deep laughter bubbling from inside his chest.

"What?" she asked innocently, "You didn't think I was going to perve?"

"Not on me," he chuckled.

"Oh, please," Hermione laughed in return, grinning at the African wizard wickedly, "I've been perving on you since the day I met you, Kingsely Shacklebolt."

"It's true, Kings," George chuckled quietly, "She moaned your name in her sleep once."

"George!" Hermione scolded, her cheeks turning pink.

"What?" he grinned at her, "You thought I'd forgotten? It's not every day I wake up to the sounds of my witch moaning another man's name. At least anyone not Fred's name, anyway."

"It was one time, and do you even remember how he looked when he turned up for the meeting that day. Don't even try to tell me you weren't perving on him too," Hermione protested while Kingsley's booming laugh carried throughout the corridor.

"I don't perve on other wizards, Beautiful," George assured her.

"You perved on Fred with me all the time," Hermione argued.

"Don't be ridiculous. He was my mirror image. Might as well have been perving on myself," George smirked.

"You did that too," Hermione told him.

"You fucked this one and his twin?" Rowle asked, jerking his thumb in George's direction.

Hermione rolled her eyes at George when he began to laugh long and loud at the shock in Thorfinn's voice.

"Oi, what was that?" Lestrange called from down the corridor, "Did I just hear that Granger's been double-teamed?"

"You're in for it now, Hermione," Theo called from down the corridor.

"Seriously, Hermione? You fucked the twins? I thought you had a thing for Ron?" Seamus asked.

"Ickle Ronniekins?" George's laughter began to bubble free, "Hermione and Ron? Really, Seamus?"

"What's the matter, ginger? You'll share her with one brother but not the others?" Carrow's voice snarked from his cell as some of his pain obviously began to subside.

"Ignore them George," Hermione told her ex-boyfriend, rolling her eyes.

"Wait…" George said, twisting his head slightly to meet her gaze, "Did you fuck Ron while you were on the run?"

Hermione snorted.

"You do realise that I'd have better chances as seducing Ginny than Ron, don't you?" Hermione asked him, "Especially considering that most of the time he was too busy slobbering after Harry to realise I'm actually female."

"What?" George asked, frowning.

"Tell me you did not get to twenty-two years old before realising that your younger brother was gay, Georgie," Hermione began to laugh at his flabbergasted expression.

"Ron's… but he's had a thing for you since, like, first year. And he dated that Lavender Brown girl for months in your sixth year," George protested.

"It was a cover," Hermione rolled her eyes at him, "He didn't want to admit he was into blokes so he tried to make the attraction to other boys go away by literally burying himself in twat. It didn't help. He was telling us while we were on the run… the whole time he was dating Lavender, he had to be thinking about a bloke to get it up at all."

"Seriously?" George asked, suddenly looking gleeful, as though he couldn't wait to tell Fred. He even glanced over his shoulder as though expecting to find his twin there, laughing about it too.

"Yeah. Remember my fourth year when he was so put out about me going to the Yule ball will Viktor Krum?" Hermione asked, "We all thought it was because he was jealous and wanted to go with me. We thought wrong. He wanted Krum himself."

The shout of laughter that left George almost made Hermione jump.

"You're avoiding the question, Kitten," Rowle reminded her from across the cell where he'd begun disrobing himself, clearly preparing for his own trip to the showers.

"What exactly are you wanting to hear, Thorfinn?" Hermione asked, turning her gaze to the big blonde Death Eater and trying very hard to ignore the swoop of desire low in her abdomen as he pulled his shirt off over his head and began removing his trousers. Good Gods, but the man was ripped.

"You let him and his twin shag you? Together?" he asked, nodding in George's direction.

Hermione realised that they only way to get through this would be to bluff her way through the teasing until it got old. Biting her lower lip in a way she'd once been told by Krum was sexy as hell, Hermione trailed her eyes over the muscled frame of the man in the cell opposite hers.

"Oh yeah," Hermione grinned at him wickedly, "I let them both have me. At the same time. I was especially fond of the times when I'd be straddling one, and bent over by the other one. There's nothing like that full feeling, you know? So completely entwined with the two of them. Hmmm."

Hermione moved forwards until she could nuzzle her face against the bars of her cells as though she were being intimately touched just then. She smirked wickedly.

"My favourite part," she went on, letting her voice go husky as she watched the wizard across from her, his blue eyes suddenly fixed completely upon her, "Was that first, slow, simultaneous penetration. Being deliciously stretched and filled up… mmm, and the feel of them both so deep inside me? Surrounding me so completely, pressing me between the two of them, enveloping me in their heat, filling me up until I swear I could feel them both hitting the back of my throat, rubbing against all my internal walls just right. Gods, it was so good, Thorfinn."

Hermione watched the way Thorfinn Rowle' pupils blew wide at her words and the breath way she said his name. She could see his cock hardening as his trousers slowly slipped to the floor, forgotten by the wizard as he listened to her talk, one of his hands ghosting towards his own cock as it swelled.

"I'd be so wet and so hungry for it that sometimes, I could take both of them deep inside my pussy," Hermione went on wickedly, letting her hands trail over her breasts, "Two glorious cocks gliding in and out of that tight, wet cavern of heat. But we only did that sometimes, you know? Only when they begged. The rest of the time… well, have you ever felt the way it feels to have a man's cock so deep inside your arse that it burns just a bit? Gods, there's nothing like it, Thorfinn. That stretched, burning sensation of pleasure that borders on pain. I _loved_ that. I ached for that. I'd beg them both to fill me up to the brim until there was nothing left to give and then I'd beg them to fuck me so hard, Thorfinn. I begged them to be rough with me, to pound into me until I'd scream my release and revel in the feel of them filling me up with their come."

"Fuck, Granger," Hermione heard Theo mutter from further down the row, every wizard within earshot currently hanging on her every word.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," Seamus cursed as well, apparently shocked by her words and her description of the things she'd let the twins do to her.

Only George seemed amused in addition to being aroused. When Hermione slanted a glance at him, he winked at her, looking rather smug over the way she detailed what he and his twin had done to her with such obvious enjoyment.

"Hmmm," Hermione hummed, allowing her eyes to slide to half-lidded as though she were reliving the things she spoke of, her hands trailing over her breasts and done over her waist to further taunt the wizard, "And when they weren't doing that, they both did this thing with their tongues… Gods, it was amazing."

"When I get out of this cage, witch," Thorfinn threatened, his cock fully erect now as he stared at her, his hand pumping up and down the enormous appendage skilfully.

"What makes you think I'll let you lay a finger on me when the man so skilled at licking my pussy and fucking my arse is in the cell right next to yours, Thorfinn?" Hermione practically purred at him, smirking wickedly.

" _Draznit'"_ a low mutter in Russian that Hermione had yet to hear met her ears while Rowle glared at her like he wanted to climb through the bars and fuck her until she screamed.

Hermione slanted her gaze sideways to find Antonin Dolohov in a similar state of undress to Thorfinn. She couldn't see his lower half beneath the wall separating their cells, but she could see the wiry, lean strength of his torso beneath a fine layer of dark hair across his chest. He watched her with dark, hungry eyes and Hermione suspected that like Thorfinn did, his hand stroked the length of his own cock over the idea of doing to her what she'd told them Fred and George had done to her.

The first words he'd spoken since she'd encountered him again and he called her a tease. Hermione curled her lip at him ever so slightly.

" _Ukusi menya,"_ Hermione retorted in Russian and she watched the way his eyes flared with an even more ravenous hunger at the sound of her telling him to bite her.

" _Idi syuda, solnyshko,"_ he retorted, and Hermione smirked at him cruelly, shaking her head and refusing the directive. She also chose to ignore the way he referred to her as his little sun.

"You speak Russian?" George asked, watching her interact with the older wizard.

"I speak most languages," Hermione reminded him, "I've got an eidetic memory and spent a lot of my free time as a child learning and absorbing everything I could get my hands on. Languages were a challenge that occupied me for hours upon end; of course I speak Russian."

"Can you get through those bars, Hermione?" George asked her, smiling slowly as he watched the way she pressed herself against the bars, wanting to climb through them again so she could roam the corridor rather than having to stand there while Rowle and Dolohov jerked themselves off to the idea of fucking her the way she'd described the twins doing.

Hermione smiled widely at him, nodding her head, "I can, but I'll get in trouble if I do it when the guards are paying attention or might catch me at it."

"In other words I should expect you in my cot with me around midnight?" he grinned at her.

"Sooner than that, hopefully," Hermione replied, smiling widely at him.

George laughed at her words while Hermione worked hard to keep her eyes on his face rather than letting her eyes stray to the rippling, muscled form of Thorfinn Rowle, naked and in the throes of his own pleasure. She lost the battle when a sharp hiss tore between Thorfinn's teeth. Hermione's eyes snapped over to the blonde Viking of a wizard just as jets of sticky white fluid shot from the end of his cock, coating his palm as he brought himself to release. She was unnerved by how much the sight of seeing him come turned her on.

Hermione felt a slickness between her own thighs, her eyes trailing over the impressive expanse of his body, taking in every inch of him slowly. She'd seen him naked once before – in her first year at Hogwarts when he'd been a seventh year – but he'd changed since then. The limited food of a prison diet and a hard life as a Death Eater had stripped every skerrick of fat from his body, leaving thick, corded muscle to bulge in in all the right places, defined by the tawny skin pulled taut over them.

The angry red scar of his Dark Mark was burned into the flesh of his left forearm and he bore several scars across his torso that he'd not had eight year ago. He was leaner, harder, and more dangerous. He looked every bit a lion with his long golden mane sprawling about his powerful shoulders his sinewy strength beneath tawny skin. She hated herself a little and cursed the world a bit for the fact that it had been so long since she'd actually been laid that she found herself yearning to crawl through the bars run her tongue over the tight abs he had on display.

Hermione also realised she was already a bit twisted and entirely on board with the parole-by-pregnancy plan when she found herself eyeing the sticky white fluid upon his hand and thinking seriously about slinking over to him and asking him to work the life-creating substance deep inside of her.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm a bit later than I planned to be. Freya and Canimal distracted me *winks* I hope you're ready for this one. Teehee. Much love! xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Jailbird Blues**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

* * *

She laid in her cot as darkness fell, ignoring the way Lestrange nagged her for hours to further detail the type of things she'd let Fred and George do to her. Ignoring the way Thorfinn continued to smirk at her across the row, watching her move about her cell as though he was just waiting for her to give in to the urge to crawl through the bars and join him in his cot. She also ignored the tingling, throbbing place between her legs that suggested doing so was a fabulous idea.

She laid in the darkness too, long after they'd been fed – a meal that consisted of hearty stew and stale bread for her and George after so long spent living on next to nothing, while the rest of the inmates were given roast beef and vegetables. Proudfoot had also given her a number of extra phials of potion with her dinner, telling her in a low voice that Madam Pomfrey had suggested she'd be needing them with every meal for the next few months to stabilize her menstrual cycle. Something the poor Auror had blushed through telling her, but endeavoured to pass on the message just the same.

At least, that's what the medi-witch had told the Auror about the potions. But Hermione recognised the pale pink glow of fertility potion to help boost her chances of falling pregnant and thus get her out of prison faster. She'd downed the sweet tasting concoction along with her meal and she'd been laying in her bed waiting for the guards to hand over and then waiting longer as they did their first round of checking to ensure all was well – as though any of them were actually likely to be about to get out of Azkaban unaided. Hermione had ignored the way Auror Savage had checked her out, obviously having been told by Entwhistle that she was willing to shag them too, if need be, in order to get out of this place faster.

After listening to Lestrange nag her and try to reach her through the bars in attempts to touch her all afternoon – not to mention being constantly watched by Rowle and Dolohov – she'd had been a little bit too cranky to bother with the handsome Auror. Hermione had ignored them all, whiling away the hours by subtly using her magic to better clean her cell and waiting for everyone to get bored of staring at her. Something she'd still been waiting for when the guards doused the lights for the evening, leaving them all in darkness and making it so that Hermione didn't have to see the way Antonin Dolohov had continued to stare at her all afternoon.

"Granger? You still awake?" Rabastan Lestrange asked from the cell beside hers.

"If I say no, will you stop talking, Lestrange?" Hermione asked, making a few of the other prisoners snort in amusement.

Even Lestrange chuckled at her words, obviously on his cot on the other side of the wall to where Hermione was curled in her own cot under the blankets.

"I'll shut up in a minute," he told her quietly, "Just to ask you something."

"What is it, Rabastan?" Hermione asked, staring at the ceiling and watching the vaguest flickering of the torches from the Aurors watch-station casting long dancing shadows on the stone of the prison.

"Given that potion I saw Proudfoot slip to you," he led off quietly, "I'm figuring that your plan for getting out of this place is the same plan my sister-in-law had for escaping. So my question is, if you manage it and one of us former Death Eaters is the one to... shall we say, assist you?... If it's one of us, what do you plan to do?"

"I'm not sure I understand the question," Hermione said, her brow furrowing slightly as she frowned.

"Well, Carrow might've been a cunt about it, but you have to know what you're in for in this hellhole with eleven men, love. Not to mention the guards too, if they feel like it. And I know what that potion was," Rabastan said quietly, "So let's say that something takes root and you can keep it up long enough to matter... What do you plan to do if it's mine? Or Rowle's? Or Dolohov's?"

Hermione realised he was asking her if she'd still go through with the pregnancy, should she manage to avoid miscarriage, if it was one of theirs.

"Why do you want to know?" Hermione asked, trying to figure him out.

"Well, you'd have to keep it if you wanted to avoid being locked back," he said quietly, "And I've got to tell you love, the idea of you getting out this place with my bastard and leaving me locked in here... it don't sit real well."

"You want to know if I'd come back and rescue the rest of you idiots as well?" Hermione said, realising what he was getting at, "What's the matter, Lestrange? Feeling fatherhood pangs?"

"No," he replied, "Just don't much like the idea of staying locked in this shit hole for the rest of my life without a witch around that I can fuck. I'm thinking that if you look like you're on your way out of here and you're going to leave the lot of us here, I'd probably be... compelled… to do something so that you've got to stay too."

A chill ran down her spine at the threat in his tone. He meant that if he had to stay here without a witch to shag, he'd do whatever he could to make sure she lost the baby so that she'd be forced to return to her cell alongside him and the rest of the inmates who intended to take advantage of her body.

"Not really a question, then, is it Lestrange?" Hermione said coldly, "You just want to threaten me again."

"Oh, it's a question, love," he assured her, "I want to know if you plan to let us all rot in this place when you get out, even if you're having one of our kids; or if I'm going to have to take steps to make sure you don't get out."

"Let me ask you something, Lestrange," Hermione retorted, her voice turning icy, "I can do wandless blood-magic despite not having had anything decent to eat in about a year and a half. How do you think you'll fare when I call in your blood debts and watch all your lifeblood spill across the cold prison floor?"

"I don't owe blood debts, little Mudblood," Lestrange retorted, "The only people I owed them to are all dead."

Hermione narrowed her eyes in annoyance.

"I can still take your life if you mess with me, Lestrange," she informed him.

"You won't have to if you're willing to get us all out of here."

"Because that would be such a safe environment for a child," she rolled her eyes to herself, "I can see the headline now: 'Pregnant witch pulls prison break. Lifers at large. All are armed and dangerous'. You think that if I actually managed to have a kid, I'd be a good mother if I were to go on the run for the likes of you?"

"You'd do it for you Order buddies," Lestrange argued.

"In a heartbeat," she confirmed, "But you see, they've bled for me. They'd die for me. What have you done for me, Lestrange? Other than threatened violence and backed the guy who murdered my best friend's entire family?"

"You told Malfoy you'd bust him out," Lestrange argued.

"Draco saved my life," Hermione retorted, "You, Rowle, Dolohov and Lucius all tried to end it in one way or another. And Carrow's a cunt."

"You do know what we'll do to you if you look like you'll be getting out of this place and leaving us behind, don't you, Granger?" Thorfinn Rowle's low voice asked from across the corridor.

"You do know what I'll do to you if you try, don't you, Rowle?" Hermione retorted.

"Better a quick death than rotting in this place forever," he retorted.

"Well, it's a pointless discussion anyway," Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes to herself, "The likelihood that I can fall pregnant at all, let alone carry to term, is extremely slim."

"What? Why?" Rowle asked, sounding slightly concerned at the idea.

"Take it up with Dolohov," Hermione replied.

"Me?" Dolohov asked, his voice scratchy as though he didn't use it to speak very often, "How would I know anything about your ability to be a mother?"

"You're the one responsible for taking that ability from me," Hermione said softly.

"You're barren?" Lestrange asked, his voice sounding closer and Hermione glanced sideways to see he'd sat up in his cot and was peering through the bars, his silhouette illuminated by the torchlight flickering in the guards watch-station.

"So much worse," Hermione replied coolly.

"Worse?" Rowle asked, "What do you mean worse? Antonin, what did you do?"

"I haven't done anything to the bloody witch since... oh," Dolohov's voice trailed off suddenly and Hermione heard his cot creak before he too sat up and peered at her through the bars and the darkness. The torchlight caught his face just so, and Hermione rather hated the way the stubble lining his sharp jaw and his direct gaze actually looked rather handsome as he frowned at her in concern.

"You're all threatening violence should I possibly get out of here, or should I not bother letting you lot shag me," Hermione chuckled bitterly in the dark, "You're all labouring under the delusion that anything you could possibly do to me would be worse than what I already endure every month."

"Every month?" Lestrange asked, "You're a werewolf."

"Don't be so fucking thick, Rabastan!" Draco Malfoy's drawling sneer came out of the darkness down the row, "What do women do every month when they don't fall pregnant?"

"Oh... _Oh_..." Lestrange said, and Hermione could almost hear the blush in his voice, "What's that have to do with Dolohov and whether we can threaten her into fucking us?"

"I'm beginning to see why Voldemort was so furious all the time," George spoke up dryly, "You're all fucking idiots."

"My curse still burns you, _Solnyshko_?" Dolohov asked her quietly, and if Hermione didn't know better, she'd swear he looked contrite and concerned for her wellbeing.

"I haven't been allowed to menstruate since a month after you cursed me, Dolohov," Hermione replied evenly, "The effects are... well, with time you'll all witness those effects in all their wretched detail."

"Why are you taking fertility potion then?" Lestrange wanted to know.

"Like I said, the likelihood of being able to fall pregnant or carry to term is slim. But it's a better alternative than sitting in this place for the rest of my life being repeatedly raped by you lot," Hermione said, "So it's a chance I'll have to take."

"And if it takes, Princess?" Rowle asked softly, "You going to walk out of here with my kid planted in you and let me rot?"

"He says, labouring under the delusion that he'll get the chance to knock me up," Hermione laughed again, trying to put her concerns over her ability to fall pregnant at all from her mind.

"I see how you look at me, Kitten," Rowle replied smugly, "You'll fuck me. I know it. And I wasn't kidding about you carrying on my bloodline, witch. If you're getting out of here, it's with my spawn festering inside your womb."

"A rather apt description for it if you're involved, Rowle. But, with luck, George will knock me up before you do," Hermione replied.

"That's cold, Princess. You'd rather ginger-haired rugrats instead of Viking descendants?"

Hermione chuckled.

"Viking this, Rowle," George spoke up before farting loudly.

A high pitched giggle of amusement tore from inside Hermione's chest at the rudeness, and she wasn't the only one laughing. Throughout the cell block, everyone chuckled at the break to the tension and the heavier conversation surrounding the idea of Hermione getting pregnant, carrying to term or being forced to miscarry by her less than pleased fellow prisoners

"You better watch yourself, Weasley," Rowle retorted though there was no heat in the threat, "Cheeky little shit. You haven't changed since school."

George stayed silent, but the disagreement in his silence was clear. Without Fred, he was completely changed.

"You coming over, Beautiful?" George asked instead of mentioning it.

"With all these gits still awake to listen in? I don't think so," Hermione scoffed.

"You do realise that with all of us intending to fuck you, it's hardly going to matter if we hear you, right Princess?" Thorfinn asked from across the row, "We'll all see you and hear you when you're riding each of our cocks? What's it matter if we hear you riding his too?"

"Still got those delusions then, Rowle?" Hermione laughed, "You'll have to forgive me if I don't jump at the chance to be eavesdropped on during my reconnection with the man I love after more than a year apart."

"How long did the three of you date anyway, Hermione?" Neville asked curiously, "I had no idea you were dating the twins."

"We didn't advertise it," Hermione replied, "But we got together at the end of fourth year and dated throughout most of fifth. When Fred and George bailed before their exams, things were rocky for a bit, what with the distance and me nearly being murdered – thanks for that, by the way Dolohov. Anyway with them not at school anymore and me being away most of the year, we agreed it would be better if we weren't exclusively dating. But we were still shagging whenever we saw each other right up and Harry, Ron and I fled Bill's wedding to hunt down the horcruxes."

"That's what you were doing that entire time?" Thorfinn asked from across the row, "You lot were hunting – I don't even really know what Horcruxes are."

Hermione opened her mouth to explain it to him, but Dolohov beat her to it.

"They're objects with pieces of a person's soul inside them," he explained, "The Dark Lord made a number of them – beginning when he was still at Hogwarts, I believe."

"Moaning Myrtle was used to create the first one," Hermione confirmed, "When Voldemort was at school he opened the Chamber of Secrets and set the Basilisk from the chamber on the muggleborns. Myrtle was the first to die. He used the murder to create a rip in his soul – which through a thoroughly disgusting process can be completely severed and removed from within the body to be stored somewhere else. It's the Darkest form of magic on record. He stored the piece inside the horcrux – the vessel to protect it – which happened to have been a diary. Lucius slipped it into Ginny's cauldron at Diagon Alley before our second year, Neville. She mistook it for a book that wrote back to her when she poured her then unrequited love for Harry and all her girlhood woes into its pages. With enough access to anyone holding the horcrux, the soul piece can grow stronger and eventually manifest by draining the life and magic from the host carrying it."

"But Harry destroyed that book in second year, didn't he? Seamus called, "Didn't he stab it with the fang of the Basilisk after slaying it?"

"He did," Hermione nodded, "It's what prevented Voldemort from returning then."

"Potter slayed a fucking Basilisk in his second year?" Lestrange asked, sounding shocked.

"Potter was fucking saint," Draco threw in snidely.

"Saved your butt a few times, Malfoy," Hermione reminded him.

"Nearly got me killed a bunch of times too," Draco retorted, "How many horcruxes were there in total, anyway?"

"Seven," Hermione replied, "The locket we stole from Umbridge at the Ministry when we impersonated Ministry workers to get it. The ring of Marvolo Gaunt – which, incidentally contained the Resurrection stone of the Deathly Hallows. Dumbledore destroyed that one, it's why his hand was cursed and withered in our sixth year. He was actually already dying when Snape took an Unbreakable Vow to protect you, Draco, from having to rip your soul by murdering him."

"Fucking Snape," Dolohov muttered, "That fucker was always slippery."

"Don't speak ill of the dead, Dolohov," Hermione chided, "It's bad manners. Anyway, there was also the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff – which was stored in the Lestrange vault Gringotts."

"That's why you lot busted in there?" Lestrange asked.

"Yes. I had to impersonate the bitch who tortured me to get it too, but we got it, in the end," Hermione sighed, "The fifth horcrux was the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw which was hidden in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts – we were in there after it when you, Draco, busted in with your goons nattering on about taking us to Voldemort and nearly got us all killed with the Fiendfyre."

"Sorry about that," Draco replied evenly, "Crabbe was a fucking idiot."

"You don't say?" Hermione snarked, rolling her eyes and making everyone laugh, "The sixth Horcux was Nagini."

"I knew there was something wrong with that fucking snake!" Dolohov exclaimed, "Too smart for any beast, that fucker."

"The final Horcrux was one Voldemort never intended to make," Hermione went on, "He only meant to have seven soul bits, including the piece still in his body before he went to Godric's Hollow and murdered the Potters. When the Killing curse he aimed at baby Harry rebounded from the protection shield Lily Potter had sacrificed her life for, his soul was so tattered and so broken that it split a final time, leaving a wraith part of him – the one that eventually was resurrected at the end of our fourth year, to flee. The other half of the split latched on to the only living thing still in the room. Harry. It's what caused his lightning bolt scar and it's why his scar pained him so much and how he could tap into visions of what Voldemort was doing."

"Is that why they both died in the Final Battle?" Neville asked, after everyone was silent for several long minutes.

"No," Hermione admitted, "When Harry went to Voldemort willingly and laid down his life to save the rest of us, Voldemort's spell destroyed the Horcrux piece instead of killing Harry. When they faced off in the final battle, they simply both struck with Killing curses and neither was quick enough with their shields."

Hermione felt tears well in her eyes at the memory of her best friend falling down dead – having so recently proved he wasn't dead at all – and she closed her eyes tightly on the pain she felt at the memory. Gods, she missed Harry right now. He'd likely be sitting in a cell alongside hers, but what she wouldn't give to have him alive and well to weigh in on matters. She'd gladly suffer out her sentence in this wretched place for the simple chance of Harry being alive.

"Well…" Thorfinn Rowle's voice came through the darkness over the sound of her soft sniffle, "That was fucking depressing. Anyone got a more cheerful story to tell before bed so we don't all have nightmares?"

In spite of the dull ache in her chest, Hermione snorted in amusement.

"That a yes, Princess?" Thorfinn asked, "Course, if you were willing to climb on out of that cell and into mine, I reckon no one would mind listening to you moan as they fell asleep while I fuck you. Or Weasley does, if you're still scared of my cock."

"We agreed that I didn't want you lot listening in on that," Hermione reminded him, "And that you were delusional if you think I'm shagging you."

"Have it your way then, Kitten," he told her quietly, "But if I wake up later, screaming in my sleep, you'll only have yourself to blame."

"The guilt-trip, Rowle, really?" Hermione sighed, "You really are reprehensible, do you know that?"

"You only think that 'cause it's working," Thorfinn replied knowingly.

Hermione hated him for being right. She hated the idea that they were all listening and likely would keep listening for as long as they could hold out on sleep just to be able to hear her. Even if she waited all night, there was no guarantee that they would all fall asleep. Her insides twisted uncomfortably. She wanted to escape her cell and go to George. She wanted to crawl into his familiar arms and breathe him in, to lose herself in his touch and completely let go of her pain and her anger, knowing he knew way to make her do so.

But she didn't at all want to listen to the catcalling, the jokes, the sneers or the suggestions she didn't doubt some of the Death Eaters – most likely Thorfinn, Lestrange and Carrow – would have to say on the matter.

"Whenever you're ready, Beautiful," George voice was low and intimate through the dark from across the walkway, obviously thinking he needed to reassure her that he didn't care if they had to fuck for an audience.

"The guards do another round at midnight," Kingsley warned quietly, "And then not another until dawn. If you wish to avoid being caught, you either need to go now and leave him when you are done. Or you need to wait until later when you are less likely to be caught and punished."

Hermione sighed to herself.

"Anyone have any idea what time it is?" Hermione asked.

"Just gone ten o'clock," Draco said quietly.

"How do you know?" Hermione asked curiously, frowning at his certainty.

"There's a clock on the wall in the watch-station," Draco replied, "I can see it from my cot if I lean at the right I angle."

"What do they do on their midnight round?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Make sure we're all still alive," Thorfinn replied, "Though Savage and Cunningham don't usually even both checking on us. Might tonight, with you here, Princess."

"Doubt it," Lestrange threw into the conversation, "They don't care if we scream ourselves hoarse at each other or if taunt her all night. They only have to make sure we're alive and still in the prison."

"In other words they're not likely to catch me, no matter where I go?" Hermine discerned, sitting up slowly and beginning to remove her outerwear until she sat in just her knickers and her thermal shirt. She even removed her sports bra before putting the shirt back on to fight against the chilled wind howling in off the North Sea far below the top of Azkaban's towering structure.

Nibbling her lip, Hermione climbed to her feet.

As much as she wanted to joined George in his cell, Hermione hoped that if she waited a little while longer, she would be able to avoid being eavesdropped on by everyone. Slipping between the bars of her cell, Hermione padded the length of the cellblock towards where the others had been taken earlier for their showers. There was a room at the end that she suspected was the washroom. Silent in the dark, Hermione listened to the sounds of the wizards around her as they breathed.

The idea that she could slip into the cell of whichever one struck her fancy intrigued her and scared her in equal measure.

Slipping past every cell, Hermione entered the washroom, wanting to get a feel for it. She didn't want the first time she'd see it to be when she was led in surrounded by three or more wizards who would likely be intent on raping her when the time next came that she would have to shower. She didn't like the idea of being naked in front of them all, or of having them force themselves on her.

Squinting in the dark, trying to see by just the limited moonlight peeking through the clouds and slanting through the bars on the windows in the washroom, Hermione realised that Rowle hadn't lied to her. It was nothing but a big open room with several showerheads and taps mounted along the walls. There were no benches, no racks, no sinks. Just shower heads along the wall. That, and a big expanse of floor that Hermione suspected she was likely to get to know rather intimately in her near future.

The idea made he shudder. It was bad enough conceding to the idea of shagging so many different wizards to begin with. It was bad enough that at this point, she wouldn't even care which one of them knocked her up if it meant that she would be able to carry the baby to term and get out of this wretched place. Lestrange had given her something else to think about too. If, by some miracle, she did fall pregnant, she would need to get out of prison before any of them could do anything to her that would prevent her from leaving. She didn't doubt that he was true to his word.

She also doubted very much that they would believe her – now that she'd been threatened – when she said she would come back for them once she was out. The entire thing was a mess. She would, of course, perform a prison-break and rescue her friends if there was no other way to free them. But she was thinking that if she got pregnant and managed to get free, she would be able to petition to the idea that their trials had been a farce.

Of course, that really only applied to her, Neville, Seamus and Kingsley. The rest of the men in this place had been Marked Death Eaters, all of them baring the wretched image upon their flesh that had so linked them to their Dark Lord. They belonged in here, except, perhaps, for Draco and Theo – both of whom had been pressured into the ranks by their fathers. The rest were killers. But then again, so was she.

Hermione tried to tell herself that it made a difference that she'd been fighting for good and they, for evil. That the lives she had taken meant less because of the allegiances of those she'd killed. And perhaps, had she been the one to murder Bellatrix or Voldemort, that might be so. Had those people she'd killed been as evil as Umbridge, she'd feel less guilt over killing them. But the fact was, she was as much as killer as the Death Eaters in the cells surrounding hers.

Sure, they had killed and hurt people that she cared about, but the same could be said by them about her. Did it matter so very much, now that they'd all been sentenced, that they had killed for their beliefs and she had killed for hers? Many of them had undoubtedly fought in the battle to defend their own lives as much to obey their Dark Lord. It wasn't inconceivable that some of their crimes could be forgiven just as she hoped to be forgiven for hers.

Frowning to herself, Hermione slinked back up the length of the corridor, counting the cells until she reached George's. She didn't want to accidentally climb in with Carrow or with Rowle by stopping too soon, or overshooting too far. Hermione could tell that George had been lying awake waiting for her when she slipped between the bars of his cell, and crossed to his cot.

In the moonlight through the window, Hermione could make out the way he laid stretched out on his back, his hands pillowed behind his head as he stared at her through the dim light.

"Hello, Beautiful," he whispered to her very softly when Hermione reached his bedside.

He peeled back the blankets covering his lanky frame with one hand, opening them wide and holding his arms out to receive her. Hermione didn't hesitate before crawling in on top of him, burying her face in his neck and sinking into the familiar feel of having him hold her so close. He crushed her to him tightly, pressing her close, holding her like she was the only anchor amid his sea of grief.

"Merlin, I've missed you," Hermione whispered against his neck, pressing soft kisses there as she tunnelled her hands around his shoulders, holding him in return as best she could.

The shuddering sigh that escaped George spoke louder than anything he could have said in that moment. He clutched her to him even tighter and Hermione felt tears fill her eyes, overflowing to trickle down her cheeks as she held him to her so close, as though hoping that if he pressed her to him tightly enough, she could fill the place in his heart that she already occupied and would spill over into the hole left by Fred's absence.

She didn't know how long she laid there with him, simply holding him to her and being held in return. Everyone else on the cellblock was silent until finally the soft snoring of some – and the not-so-soft snoring of others made itself known.

"Beautiful, I'm not sure I'm up to full-out sex," George murmured in her ear very softly, "I feel like I can barely breathe without pain."

"Do you need me to move?" Hermione asked just as softly.

"No," he replied, "But I know I need to knock you up as soon as possible."

"You won't be able to until my cycle regulates again anyway," Hermione whispered to him, shaking her head, "Anything we do before then will simply be for the sake of closeness and physical satiation."

"Closeness, eh?" he asked, his voice tight, "How close will you let me get, Beautiful?"

"How close do you want to be?" Hermione asked, lifting her head from his neck to peer into his eyes through the sim moonlight filtering through the bars of his cell.

Tilting his head until his lips brushed hers, Hermione's heart clenched inside her chest until she was sure it was shattering once more when George spoke.

"I want to climb so deep inside you that I lose myself… so that I can't feel this pain anymore."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Many thanks for all your love and support. I hope you continue to enjoy the story and that you enjoy this chapter.**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Jailbird Blues**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

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He kissed her hard enough to bruise, his lips firm and familiar upon hers, devouring her with warmth and love and so much emotion that were he a fire, he'd glow brighter than the sun. Hermione's heart ached for him as his tongue swept into her mouth, the taste of him overpowering her senses and making her ache just a little less with pain, and a little more with love. Gods, she had missed him.

His words made her chest hurt, knowing that he was in so much pain missing his twin and missing his family and barely surviving without the other half of his soul. His hands knotted into her hair hard enough to sting as he snogged her desperately, trying to flood himself with feelings of desire, of need, of love, anything to overcome the pain. Hermione knew the feeling. Knowing that Fred was gone, that she couldn't break the kiss, turn her head and snog the other twin, was like a lance to her heart and she could feel the silent tears that tracked down George's cheeks, brushing against her own as he kissed her until she felt delirious with lack of oxygen and a need for more.

She pressed herself to him snugly, revelling in his warmth, his touch, his familiarity; in the simple feeling of being held after so long without it. She'd sat for weeks in her wretched little cell before her trial, barely alive with grief; half-starved; half mad. George's tongue claimed her own and his hands smoothed all the way down her back to rest on her bum, feeling each ridge of her spine, noting the loss of condition. He was in no better shape. He had edges so sharp they hurt against her.

Hermione threw herself into the passion, the wild desperation, the need to feel anything but their emotional pain. He'd removed his shirt to sleep and she let her hands wander his torso, re-learning his long, hard lines. Discovering anew each bump of his ribs where they stood out. He ground himself against her hip, his body recalling its uses as they snogged. He was breathing hard when he broke from her lips to kiss his way down her neck, as though the exertion of this alone might kill him.

She had to remind herself that he'd barely been able to walk when he'd been brought in. She shifted so that she was straddling him, feeling the way his hands shifted to grip her hips, rolling them in slow circles over him and making her crazy with need. She knew that she was in trouble when she found herself turning her head, seeking Fred's kiss and his touch upon her skin, only to recall she would never feel it ever again.

Tears overflowed her eyes and she knew George had picked up on it too, his smooth movements turning jolty and a rasping breath alerting her to the fact that he was practically sobbing. Wanting to distract him, to bring him any kind of solace she could offer, Hermione lifted off him just enough to free his cock from his boxers. She didn't bother removing her own knickers, she simply pulled them aside before aligning their bodies and sinking down upon him.

It stung a little, her body no longer accustomed to being used in such a manner after so long spent without sex. Hermione persevered, unsure in the dark if George's uneven breath was from sobs or pleasure. He shifted under her, flexing his hips into each stroke as she impaled herself onto him and Hermione bit her lip on tears of her own when his hands trailed over her lower back, instinctively positioning her as he'd done a hundred times when it had been him _and_ Fred shagging her at the same time.

Hermione kissed him hard, trying to make him forget, trying to distract them both from the pain of knowing that Fred would never be there with them again. George kissed her back even harder, his lips unforgiving, his teeth nipping her lips and her tongue, his hands tightening on her hips as some of his sadness and pain morphed into something darker, something more destructive. As though he might somehow alleviate his anger with the world through Hermione, even if it hurt her.

She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt a hand that wasn't George's smooth over the top of her shoulders and down her back. Jerking upright quickly, she instinctively looked over her shoulder, her tired mind playing tricks on her that it was Fred after all – that his death had all been some terrible nightmare. She found no one behind her but when she turned her head in the other direction her eyes followed the hand upon her skin, up the length of a muscular arm and through the bars of the cell.

There, his face pressed to the bars and his arms reaching through it as far as possible, stood Thorfinn Rowle. Hermione felt a strange surge of something through her stomach and she couldn't rightly say if it was dread, fear, disgust or arousal. All she knew was that the big brute was touching her while she shagged George. If George noticed, he didn't care. Hermione never broke her rhythm aboard her ex-boyfriend's cock, even as she met Rowle's gaze through the bars of the cell.

She was surprised that he didn't speak, but also relieved. She was certain that his voice might've broken the spell and somehow pushed her into jumping off George just to move out of the Death Eaters reach. It occurred to her that she should do that, anyway. But she didn't. Tipping her head back and closing her eyes, Hermione resolved to ignore his touch as she rode George harder, bouncing upon him now, not caring if they disturbed the other prisoners in the cells around them. If they could see her, they could look. She couldn't stop them, after all. She could only try to make the best of a bad situation and try to forget all the bad things in her life for a little while.

Rowle's hand wandered upon her skin, his other arms slippin through the bars and his hand tangling into her short hair. His nails scraped lightly against her scalp in the best way and she was ashamed over the little whine of sound that tore from her lips when he kept scratching at her skin with one hand while the other slid down her front to cup the pert breast nearest to him.

George's hands were biting into her hips unforgivingly and he'd begun cursing between what Hermione realised were sobs of despair and rage. Not at Rowle or even at Hermione. No, the curses leaving his mouth told tales of his anger with the world and the Powers That Be over Fred's death. When Rowle's fingers closed over her nipple, pinching lightly, Hermione hissed between her teeth at the spear of heat that shot from her nipple to her core, suddenly toppling her over the edge and into orgasm.

It was so unexpected that she huffed in surprise and clamped down on George. He groaned between clenched teeth, his grip guiding her to keep riding him through the sensations. When it stopped Hermione squeaked, the redhead surprising her with a show of energy and strength as he hoisted her off him and to her feet before following her up. Rowle made a whisper of sound, an impatient little noise when Hermione was moved out of his grip, before George bent Hermione over the bed.

Her hands came up to curl around the bars between George's cell and Rowle's to keep her balance and Hermione whined when George brutally thrust himself back inside her, his fingers bruising her hips as he powered into her. Now well within his reach, Rowle smirked a little though he remained silent, his fingers trailing up her arms until he could cup both of her breasts in his huge hands. Hermione knew she should push him away or tell him to stop. She knew she shouldn't be letting him touch her so easily when he'd threatened her so much, but the fact was that he was being gentle when he didn't have to and he would eventually be the one bending her over something and fucking her.

She didn't doubt that for a single second. She suspected that unless any of her fellow inmates were bent, she was going to have to fuck all of them – with the exclusion of Carrow, hopefully – and so what did it matter if he touched her tits right then when he would likely suckle them when he had the chance? He pinched her nipples between his fingers, rolling them and making her back arch. The bump of George's pelvic bone against her arse with each deep, slapping thrust right at her favourite angle made her crazy and Hermione was sure she was going to crack again if George didn't come soon.

The feel of Rowle's magic against her own sent her synapses firing and she squirmed when she realised he felt like fire. Like the heat of the Feindfyre she'd flown through in the Room of Requirement during the Final Battle. A raging inferno a magic and power that would devour her whole if she wasn't quick enough and careful enough. It scared her a little, but it felt good, too.

With her face pressed so close to the bars, Hermione realised she was closer to him than she was comfortable with and she could tell he wanted more than just to touch her. When he ducked his head a little, pressing his face against the bars, she realised he was trying to kiss her and she took perverse pleasure in watching him try while she hovered just out of his reach.

She squeaked when he abandoned one of her breasts, tangling his hand into her hair and tugging her closer. Hermione's lips brushed his softly while she fought his grip, jerking back in his hold and listening to the sound of George groaning when the sudden shift in her position sent him nudging deeper and pushed him over the edge.

Hermione clamped down on him, milking him, her own hand dropping to rub fast swipes over her clit until a second orgasm crashed over her, too. She sent up a prayer to whichever merciful gods might be listening that she would get pregnant. Even knowing she hadn't been off the contraceptives long enough to manage it. In her distraction, Rowle pulled her lips back within reach and he stole a fiery snog from her through the bars as her orgasm slammed into her with all the force of a tidal wave, making her knees buckle. He swallowed her little squeal of pleasure, smirking against her lips even as his tongue traced the length of hers.

She forgot for just a moment that she shouldn't be encouraging him and Hermione kissed him back. It felt like his fire might consume her right up until George's arm around her waist – the only thing allowing her to keep her feet – hoisted her backward against his chest. He was sweating and breathing hard as he pressed his face into her hair, his lips on the back of her neck. Rowle's eyes were trained on her bare breasts, but Hermione didn't both trying to hide from his gaze. There was no point. His cell was directly opposite hers, so he was going to see more of her than just about anybody else.

George kissed her neck repeatedly as he caught his breath, his cock softening inside her until it slipped right out, leaving a sticky mess upon her thighs. Making a face at the feel, Hermione pulled out of his arms and crossed to his toilet, grabbing up a few sheets of the loo paper to clean herself off. George held his hand out for some too when she wet the paper and cleaned up. She handed him some as he dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed, looking drained. His body shook from the exertion of energy and Hermione worried at her bottom lip with her teeth, hoping he'd be okay.

When he was cleaned up and she'd put her clothes back on, he tugged her back into bed with him without saying a word. He tucked her head into the hollow of his shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to the middle of her forehead. Hermione's eyes stayed open even as George drifted off, her mind fuzzy with contentment and the need for sleep. She found herself staring up at Rowle where he continued leaning his head against the bars between their cells, silently spectating.

She wanted to tell him to go away and to stop staring at them but she knew it would just encourage him if he knew it got her attention and got her to talk to him. When George began to snore, Hermione slipped back out of bed and out of his cell, no matter how much she'd like to stay snuggled into him protective embrace. She didn't want to tip off the guards that she could flit from cell to cell.

"Coming in, Princess?" Rowle asked in a low voice, tracking her along the edges of his cell until he stood at the bars to his own cells.

He was naked, Hermione noticed idly, though she couldn't make out much in the dark. He watched her hopefully, as though he'd very much like her to join him inside his cell and let him have his way with her. Hermione didn't bother to reply before climbing back inside her own cell and crawling under the covers. She closed her eyes, ignoring Rowle's faint sound of annoyance and frustration. She tried to block out some of the sounds coming from the other cells, too. She suspected that while some of her fellow inmates had dozed off and begun to snore, more than a few of them were relieving their own sexual needs solo. Hermione didn't want to think about how many of them might be masturbating to the noises she'd made while she'd shagged George.

Squeezing her eyes closed, Hermione willed herself to sleep, hoping that when she woke up in the morning, this would all just be some wretched nightmare, rather than her new reality.

 **~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

When she woke the next morning it was to the sound of waves crashing against the towering structure of the prison and the urge to vomit. Hermione blinked her eyes open slowly, trying her hardest to remember where she was and why she was so cold. She squeezed her eyes shut again at the sight of the prison ceiling before listening carefully. No noise but for the occasional snore came from the cells around her and Hermione sat up slowly, blinking to find the other cells seemingly deserted.

Peaking over the edge of her cell and into Lestrange's, she found the wizard stretched on his back, his arm thrown over his eyes and his mouth open as he slept on. When she looked toward Rowle's cell, he too was sleeping. Grinning at the idea of a few minutes of privacy, Hermione jumped out of bed and hurried to relieve herself without anyone watching her go. When she was finished she washed her hands before having a drink of water to clear out the foul taste in her mouth. She reached for her toothbrush too, figuring she might as well brush her teeth to help wake herself up. She missed the days when she'd been able to shower in the mornings while attempting to revive her sleep-laden body.

Finding her elbows was so much easier under water hot enough to scald her skin. Glancing toward the guard station, Hermione sighed, spotting both of them awake and playing what looked like a game of wizard's chess to pass the time. She'd have slipped out of her cell and down the showers if she didn't think the water would still be cold and if she didn't think she'd get caught. She suspected they would soon be brought some breakfast and that meant that if she was out of her cell, someone was going to notice.

Grumbling under her breath, Hermione did the only other thing she could think of to get her blood pumping and wake herself up. She needed to be in good health and peak physical condition if she was going to manage to fall pregnant and keep a baby to term. And that meant she was going to have to work out. Not caring that she might disturb the others in the cells around her, Hermione launched into a series of exercises. Star-jumps first thing in the morning would be the death of her, she was sure, but she did them.

They hurt. Hermione winced as she pulled muscles that hadn't been used in a long while and she hissed at the soreness in her body after last night's sex with George. A groan from across the row caught her attention as she kept going, and Hermione watched Thorfinn Rowle slowly lift his head. He looked mad enough to kill and Hermione smirked a little to herself to know she was annoying him already. He watched her through narrowed eyes as she continued doing her star-jumps until she got a stitch in her side before beginning to do squats instead. Her thighs quaked, threatening to give out on her as she pushed herself, but Hermione kept at it.

"Granger?" Lestrange's voice intruded when she finished her squats and moved over to the window, lifting down her water container before climbing up onto the windowsill and sticking her legs through the bars. It was just wide enough that with her feet curled around the bars on the window, the full length of her leg to the back of her knee was supported by the shelf. Hanging upside down for a moment, Hermione was panting even as she began jerking her body upward, doing crunches and not caring that the others could see her stomach when her shirt came untucked.

"Damn it, witch," Lestrange groaned, sitting up in bed and scratching his head, looking frustrated about being woken up. "Don't you know that this is a place where sleeping in is not only allowed, but encouraged? There's nothing else to do, and you're fucking loud."

"Eat me, Lestrange," Hermione retorted, her voice husky with exertion as she kept doing her crunches with her feet hanging out the window in the rain flinging itself against the stone walls of Azkaban.

"Happy to, love. Just come here and sit on my face and I'll get started," he retorted.

Hermione rolled her eyes, regretting it when it made her dizzy while she was still upside-down. When she couldn't do another crunch, Hermione climbed back down from the windowsill and got down on the floor, doing push-ups. She was too weak to do the proper ones, using her hands and her knees, rather than her feet, but they would do for now. She rolled her eyes a second time when Rowle rolled out of bed – still naked – before dressing himself in a pair of pants and beginning to copy her, also doing push-ups in the cell opposite her.

She ignored him too. She didn't want to be a cliché, but with nothing else to do in this wretched prison, she might as well push her body into strength and endurance enough that when she managed to escape, she would be able to survive on her own for as long as necessary. When she couldn't do any more push-ups, Hermione moved onto yoga – trying to remember what her mother had showed her as a girl when she'd forced Hermione to try yoga to better control her magic.

"Witch, if you're going to keep bending that supple little body of yours into provocative poses, it seems unjust to refrain from letting me fuck you," Lestrange informed her, avidly watching her through the bars separating their cells.

He kept chatting too, beginning again with his pick-up line and his non-stop bollocks. Everyone else began to stir in annoyance with him over how much noise he was making as he harassed Hermione and she rolled her eyes to herself, deciding the answer would surely be to block him out. Picking a song she loved and knew most of the words too, Hermione began to softly sing to herself. She focused on her breathing and her poses, stretching her body and strengthening her core, singing all the while.

Eventually Lestrange seemed to decide that he preferred to listen to her sing, rather than listening to himself talk and he fell silent but for occasionally humming along with the chorus if he knew the song that was she sang.

"Right," Hermione said finally, straightening as she got to her feet once more and running her fingers through her hair, using wandless magic to tame the wild curls and to cleanse her body of the sweat she'd worked up during her workout. "What do we all do for fun around here?"

A snort came from the cell beside hers and Hermione looked over to find Antonin Dolohov watching her once again. Already the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, but Hermione didn't acknowledge him.

"Mostly we fight," Neville informed her, waving around a yawn when he sat up, ready to kill Lestrange for chattering too much.

"What else?" Hermione asked. "Fighting is boring."

"Uh…." Neville frowned, looking down for a moment before looking around as though seeking help.

"We could fuck, Granger?" Theo Nott called from down the end of the row and Hermione smirked, rolling her eyes.

"I'm all locked up and can't get out in daylight hours, Nott," Hermione replied.

"Spoil sport," Theo accused. "Oi, Draco, don't suppose you'd distract the guards and knock them out long enough for us all to have a little fun?"

"Fuck off, Theo," Draco retorted from the other end of the row and so it began.

The bickering. The arguing. The accusations over who'd done what and who was most at fault during the war. Whose turn it was to distract the guards for the sake of unruly behaviour and constant threats over who would be raped in the showers next. Hermione listened to them all as Order members argued with Death Eaters and the Death Eaters bickered among themselves until the guards finally looked over, realising they had hungry prisoners to feed. She could tell from the way they looked surprised that they were used to the bunch of them sleeping later, but they got up just the same and went to fetch the food or summon the elves to feed their prisoners.

"Well," Hermione grumbled to herself when she'd been brought some food by an eager Ministry elf. "It's not what I was expecting."

"What did you get?" Neville asked, peering through the bars and trying to see what she'd been given.

"A full and hearty breakfast," Hermione admitted, blinking at the amount of food on her tray and shocked that most of it looked edible.

"Really?" Rowle asked, frowning from across the row.

"Really," Hermione nodded. "Bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, a muffin, mushrooms – Gods, I don't think I'll eat those. A ham, cheese and tomato croissant. Half an avocado. A bowl of porridge with cream and brown sugar. A bowl of cereal with milk. Bloody hell, I mean, I'm hungry, but this would feed _all_ of us."

"They is be your orders, Miss," the elf who'd brought her tray said. Hermione watched the little creature pulling up Hermione's bed, replenishing the water in her container, and snapping her fingers to clean the toilet as though she'd been assigned to clean the cell in addition to feeding the prisoner who resided inside of it. "The Medi-Witch be telling Tilly what you must be having and she be giving you these to have with your breakfast, too."

The elf, Tilly, fished a collection of Potion phials out of her pillow-slip and lined them up all in a row for Hermione to drink. She recognised them all as nourishment potions, nutrient draughts, a pain potion and a fertility potion.

"The Medi-Witch be saying you must eat _all_ your breakfast, even if it take until lunch. She say you must drink all your potions, too and she be telling Tilly that Tilly must report to her what you has eaten."

"How come she gets so much?" Lestrange wanted to know before pointing to his own tray, which was similarly loaded with a bowl a porridge, some fruit, some toast and some bacon and eggs.

"Tilly just be doing what she's told," the elf shrugged. "Is Miss not be liking mushrooms?"

Hermione shook her head. "When you live on nothing but boiled mushrooms for months, they get a bit sickening."

"Tilly will know for next time," the elf bowed. "Tilly be back to collect your tray and bring you lunch when lunchtime comes."

With that the elf disapparated.

"Who have you got in your pocket that wants you getting pregnant, Granger?" Lestrange wanted to know when the guards were gone and everyone was devouring their breakfast.

Hermione shook her head, her mouth too full of food to answer. Not that she'd have told him anyway. She realised that the amount of food she'd been given was for that reason, too. To help Hermione rapidly regain her health and ensure peak nutrition for the sake of getting pregnant.

"You going to eat those mushrooms?" Lestrange tried again when Hermione was diligently munching her way through her stack of toast with bacon and sauce and eggs.

"No," Hermione admitted. "You want them?"

Lestrange nodded, holding his hand out for them, cupped, obviously not caring that he'd get messy. Hermione was surprised he didn't try to grab her when she scooped them into his palm and he took them back to his tray, grinning as though he'd won something.

"You're going to pop if you eat it all in one go, Princess," Rowle warned her from across the row where he was polishing off the last of his porridge.

Hermione looked up, her cheeks full of food as she did as she'd been told, trying to force down as much as she could eat despite feeling full and queasy. She supposed Rowle had a point, but she didn't want to leave anything that could go cold because it wouldn't taste as good when it did. Sighing, she scooped the last mouthful of her porridge into her mouth and swallowed it, pleased Tilly hadn't put the milk on her cereal yet, knowing that it would keep awhile.

"She's fattening you up," Rowle went on. "And you're working out. Really are determined to get out of here with someone's spawn in your belly, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you be if you were female?" Hermione asked. "The other option is to stay here with you lot forever, and you've been explicit in your descriptions of how I'll be treated when there aren't bars separating us," Hermione reminded.

"Could've hurt you last night and I didn't," he argued.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders at him. "Because you're cunning and you know that hurting me when I'm not even in your cell guarantees that I never will be."

"And when you're marched to the showers with the lot of us?" Rowle smirked. "What are you going to do then?"

"Who says I'll have to go with you?" she raised her eyebrows. "I might be locked up, but I can still bargain, you know. I'd rather fuck a guard than a Death Eater."

Rowle narrowed his eyes on her and Lestrange made a sound in the next cell.

"You made a deal with the likes of Proudfoot and Entwhistle?" he asked. "Tricky little bitch. Didn't think Proudfoot would go for it, but you are a pretty little thing, even if you are a mudblood."

"Proudfoot prefers to follow prison rules that allow female and male prisoners to bathe separately," Hermione smiled. "Entwhistle, on the other hand, thinks with his dick."

"So you bargained not to have to fuck us?" Rowle confirmed. "Oi! Entwhistle!"

"What do you want, Thor?" Entwhistle asked of his former friend, strolling down the row to lean against the bars outside Rowle's cell.

"Is it true you agreed to let her bathe separately so we can't fuck Granger?" Rowle asked when the other man came closer.

"What if I did?" Entwhistle challenged, glancing over at Hermione and shooting her a wink. "Pretty thing like that ruined by the likes of you lot? Please! She'll look better riding my dick than yours."

"Fuck you," Neville growled. "You blackmailed her into it, I'll bet. You're scum."

"You're the murderer, mate," Entwhistle smirked at Neville. "Actually, what about a bath now, eh Granger?"

"I just ate," Hermione groaned. "I would literally vomit all over you if you even tried to make me move."

Entwhistle wrinkled his nose. "Right. Later, then."

"You let her make a deal?" Rowle demanded. "Are you _trying_ to drive us all mad?"

"Course I am, Thor," Entwhistle smirked. "You're already all cracked for following You Know Who, anyway. Won't take much to push you over. That bitch running this place thinks she's torturing Granger surrounding her with the likes of you three fuckers, but I know better. She's going to drive you lot mad before she breaks under the pressure of three schmucks perving on her."

"Fucking cunt," Rowle snarled, punching Entwhistle through the bars before the guard could pull back in time.

"You hit like a woman," Entwhistle teased his former friend even as he reeled from the blow and Hermione wondered how much of it was an act and how much of it was just him having fun with Thorfinn.

"You suck cock like one," Rowle retorted.

"There's no proof of that," Entwhistle said. "But I'll bet _she_ sucks cock like a fucking angel." He jerked his thumb at Hermione. "I'll bet it'll feel fucking awesome when she's deep-throating my cock. I've got a half a mind to do it out here, just to torture you fuckers when I make you watch."

Hermione shuddered at the sinister edge to Entwhistle's voice. She'd made a deal with him to help keep the others off her and she would uphold it, but listening to him talk about her like she wasn't there and like she didn't have feelings or a brain rubbed her the wrong way.

"Hermione, tell me you didn't make a deal with this bastard?" Neville called when she turned away, walking to her window and looking out over the raging North Sea.

"Course she did," Entwhistle answered for her. "Better me than this lot, right Granger?"

"Sure," Hermione said without looking at any of them. "I might be a murderer and a prisoner, but I do have a little dignity."

"Not if you're bartering sex, you don't," Dolohov growled quietly, always keeping pace with her inside his cell. He leaned against the corner of his where it met hers, watching her face as she looked out the window.

"Better the dignity of choosing a deal than the indignity of being raped on the shower floor in every orifice by you twisted bastards," Hermione answered coolly.

"Hermione, no," Neville said, sounding stricken. "We could've protected you. You didn't have to sell yourself short like that."

Hermione pretended not to hear him. She didn't have to look to know the set of eyes burning a hole in her back were George's. He'd shagged her silly just last night and he still cared for her as much as she did for him, but she had to get out of here as unscathed as possible. Besides, her deal only meant she'd get protection for a little while and that she wouldn't have to fuck Carrow. Everyone else was fair game as long as they didn't get too rough.

"Well," Entwhistle said, sounding amused. "Now that you've all got something new and fun to talk about, I'm going to go on back to my game."

"You're a cunt," Thorfinn informed the Auror as he swaggered away. "What the fuck, Princess?"

"What?" Hermione asked innocently.

"You bargained with them not to fuck us? Really?" Lestrange demanded. "I thought you were planning to get knocked up."

"Not with your spawn," Hermione slanted Lestrange a cool look. "Imagine the stigma on that poor child if they carried the surname of a Death Eater."

"You realise we're going to get you, right Princess?" Rowle snarled from behind her. "I thought you were going to play nice, but if you're making deals to avoid us you're both a coward, and a fucking bitch. You'll never get out of here pregnant. We'll make sure of that."

Hermione didn't dare look at him, knowing he meant every word and knowing that as angry as the Death Eaters were at the idea of not getting to fuck her, her fellow Order members were just as angry that she would make a deal with the likes of Entwhistle believing they either couldn't protect her, or couldn't be trusted. As she continued staring out the window, resolutely ignoring all questions and all arguments as the Order and the Death Eaters argued once again, she wished more than anything that things hadn't turned out like this.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: *scuttles in***

 ***squeaks to see you're all still here***

 ***is sorry it's taken so long***

 ***love you all for reviewing***

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Jailbird Blues**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

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She spent the whole day ignoring her fellow prisoners, even her friends, and wishing that she'd been allowed some more personal effects. She'd been rather dreading the notion of Marietta Edgecombe coming to pay her a visit, to gloat and to rub her nose in it that the bitch now had what she perceived to be power over her. The power to starve her, or have her raped, or even have her killed. Hermione didn't much fancy any of those notions, and she'd foolishly told the others that she'd made a deal with the guards, resulting in all of them being put out with her.

Lestrange had bitched for almost an hour, cussing her out and insisting that she would suffer their brand of 'affection' whether the guards liked it or not. Dolohov had remained quiet, one of the only ones not to have said anything about the notion that she might not be at their sexual disposal. He'd just stayed quiet and watched her. Hermione didn't really know if that was better or worse. At least Rowle and Lestrange had threatened her in their annoyance. Even Neville had told her that for a smart girl, she'd made a really stupid move. George had stayed quiet too, except to say that he hadn't realised she was so convinced of her own imminent demise that she would whore herself for protection.

She'd known from his tone that he thought she'd whored herself to him, too. That she'd only shagged him again for the sake of getting him on her good side and making him think she still loved him, so he would knock her up and get her out of there. Seamus had insisted that what Hermione had done made sense, what with Edgecombe on the loose and likely to insist that Hermione be given over to the Death Eaters for their amusement and Edgecombe's revenge. Kingsley had pointed out that doing so made sense if Edgecombe simply asked for reports that Hermione was being brutalised. The guards might be more likely to say she was, even if she wasn't, if they were getting something out of the deal.

Hermione had known too that a few of the boys were wondering if they might get to fuck her, anyway. Neville, Seamus, George and Kingsley were already a shoe in because they were part of the Order and her friends. Draco, too, had proved himself decent enough in the end and she'd known from his guardedly curious expression that he wanted to know if he'd get to fuck her – if she'd slip between the bars of his cell and have her way with him. Theo had outright asked, as he often already did, if she was going to fuck him. Lucius Malfoy had surprised her the most. He'd praised her for making a deal to protect herself and completely agreed with her decision.

From the way he'd said it, Hermione had the feeling that he was one of the ones among the group who had no intention of shagging her. Maybe it was because he was too well-mannered to rape her. Maybe he was repulsed by the fact that she was muggle-born. Maybe he didn't fancy the idea of siring another child with her when the whole prison knew she wanted to get pregnant and get out of there. Maybe he didn't like the idea of sharing a witch that his son was going to fuck. Maybe he didn't want to put his dick where the rest of them were going to blow their loads. Maybe he just wanted to remain loyal to his wife. Hermione didn't know, but the notion that he might not want to fuck her actually endeared the Death Eater to her.

He might be wretch, a bigot and a coward, but she would rather like not having to fuck someone just for the sake of keeping the peace. And if she could get away with shagging one less person while she lived out this nightmare, she would jump at the chance.

All day, she ignored everyone around her and eventually they all got bored with threatening her and telling her what a fool she was. Hermione spent most of the day looking out the window, her stomach roiling like the turbulent sea, the heavy food not sitting well in her stomach after so long living on nothing but air. She was tired, she'd realised, but she didn't think it would bode well for her if she were to try to lay down and catch a nap.

That way led depression and not bothering to get out of bed anymore, and that was something she could ill afford. Unwilling to risk exercising further when she felt so unwell, and unwilling to talk to her fellow inmates when they were all still so cross with her, Hermione had resorted to simply staring out the window, watching the turbulent North Sea as it forever raged, crashing wildly against the sides of the prison and swamping the small island below.

"Hey, Lestrange?" Hermione asked after several hours, when the others had grown bored of threatening her.

"Hmmm?" the Death Eater hummed curiously from where he'd stretched out on his mattress and had been staring at the ceiling, humming along broken tunes to himself when he couldn't remember how they all went, but couldn't seem to stand the silence, either.

Hermione noticed that he didn't sound angry, just curious and she supposed that he wasn't the type to hold a grudge. Maybe he didn't see the point when, eventually, the lot of them were likely to manage to corner her in the shower and have their way with her regardless of the deals she made.

"When it storms," she said. "Or if there's ever a hurricane… What happens to the prison?"

Lestrange sat up and squinted through the bars that separated them.

"Nothing," he shrugged. "You mean like, whether they consider evacuating us, right? They don't. We're lifers. They don't care if we die here. The Dementors never cared, anyway. Floaty fuckers could just fly away and not be harmed, and don't have feelings outside of hungry and anger, anyway."

"So, we just stay here?" Hermione asked. "What about the building? Those waves are already engulfing the island and crashing against the side of the prison."

Lestrange frowned at her for a moment before hauling himself up off his mattress and moving to his own window.

"Oooh," he said, sounding excited. "There's a storm a'comin', lads!"

Hermione felt a chill run down her spine at the sinister way he said it, his excitement evident.

"Another one?" Rowle grumbled from across the corridor.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder as the rest of the inmates all moved to their own windows.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Rowle went on. "It's going to hit from this side. I hate getting wet when it blows in."

"Don't be a whiny fuck, Thor," Rabastan chided him. "You're in for a treat, Granger."

"Why?" Hermione frowned.

"It's been a while since a storm brewed of this magnitude. Probably hasn't been one since you lot were all thrown in here. The last one that was this bad was likely when the Dark Lord broke us all out of here, I reckon," Lestrange said. "Oooh, there's nothing like that terror in the pit of you stomach that one of those monster waves will rip the guts out of the lower levels and send up plummeting to our doom."

Hermione began to suspect that the man was entirely unhinged when he emitted an elated laugh like a small child who's just been promised they'll be taken to a theme park and given a whole bucket of sweets.

"It rocks the foundations and makes this old girl sway," Lestrange went on. "We'll topple, one day, and then we'll all be free."

"I'd rather be free and alive," Hermione replied. "If Azkaban toppled into the ocean, we'd all drown."

"Fat chance of you getting free unless you want to slip through these bars and really make my night, Granger," Lestrange smirked, winking at her.

"Believe me, Lestrange, that wouldn't get me out of here," Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Why not?" he asked, turning his eyes from the storm raging outside once more and moving across his cell to press his face against the bars between them.

"I'm not currently even ovulating," Hermione shrugged. "Any sex I have in the coming who knows how long will all be for pleasure, only. Believe me, when I'm capable of getting pregnant, you'll know."

"Because you'll be riding my cock?" Lestrange asked, looking hopeful.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh just a little that the impending violent storm had clearly lifted his spirits inordinately. His eyes gleamed with hope and eagerness, and he practically quivered where he stood.

"Because whenever I fail to fall pregnant each month I'll be curled into a pathetic, screaming ball on the floor of my cell, torturing your eardrums," Hermione corrected.

"All the more reason to increase your chances as much as possible of getting knocked up," Rowle piped up from across the way where he was leaning against the back wall of his cell, peering out the window and not bothering to look at her.

"Don't listen to them, Hermione," Neville called. "They're all sour because they haven't felt a witch's touch in too bloody long and they thought that having you show up would be an immediate ticket to shag-topia."

Hermione sighed, strolling to the front of her cell and pressing her forehead against the bars to peer down the length of the room at her friends. Neville gave her a small smile and Hermione returned it.

"We'll see," was the best she could offer.

"Not so concerned about your little deal with the guards after all, then?" Carrow sneered from the other direction but Hermione didn't pay him any mind. She'd begun to think the best way to deal with him would be to just pretend he didn't exist until he didn't bother talking.

Before she could say anything else, Proudfoot strolled down the cell block and stopped in front of her cell.

"You better get your gear and get ready for a shower, Granger," he said quiet. "If that storm hits badly, we'll lose access to hot running water."

Hermione nodded, turning away.

"Time to strip, Granger," Lestrange grinned. "There's nowhere in the bathrooms to put your gear without it getting drenched and when this storm hits, you'll want something dry to put on, trust me."

Hermione bit her lip, looking around and finding that even the eyes of her friends were on her, waiting to see what she would do; waiting to watch her peel each garment from her body and reveal the meagre and half-starved female form hidden beneath. Sighing heavily, Hermione screwed her courage to the sticking place, reminding herself that she might very well be fucking the lot of them in short order and then they'd be doing a bit more than seeing her bared body – they'd be touching it, too.

Peeling her shirt off over her head, Hermione ignored the wolf-whistle Rowle emitted from behind her, keeping her back to him. She slid her pants down her legs next, peeling them off her body and folding them neatly on the end of her bed. Her socks came off next, and Hermione winced at the cold bite of the stone floor beneath her feet once they were bare. She peeled away each layer of clothing until she stood in only her bra and her knickers, aware of the way both didn't fit quite right thanks to the emaciation born of a year on the run, starving and stressed; grief at the death of Harry and Fred and Remus and Tonks; and more than a month fighting for scraps in a combined cell with other witches.

She had more scars now than she'd had before all this began and she nibbled her lower lip as she looked down at the miniscule excuse for breasts she still had thanks to how skinny she was.

"Satisfied, Lestrange?" Hermione asked, since he'd been the one to instruct her to strip for them all. "Aroused? Does the sight of a starved and broken woman turn you on?"

"Come on, Granger," Proudfoot said quietly. "Leave the rest; if all else fails I can hold them for you, so they won't get wet."

Hermione turned to look at the man, her eyes widening a little at his apparent kindness. When she met his gaze, the recent hostility born of thinking her a violent criminal was gone and only pity lingered in his expression. Hermione could tell that unlike the lascivious others, he wasn't at all aroused by the sight of her bared form. He was horrified that she looked so unwell.

"Bloody hell, Princess," Rowle muttered from across the way and Hermione looked past Proudfoot to see the hulking Death Eater was watching her with a look that almost matched Proudfoot's.

Hermione looked down at herself once more, biting her bottom lip and shrugged her slim shoulders.

"No wonder you…" Rowle began before realising that if Proudfoot found out she could fit through the bars, he would move her to a different cell.

No one else said anything as Hermione collected her bath towel and followed Proudfoot down the corridor past all the inmates. Not a single one of them uttered a word, not even Carrow, and Hermione could tell that whatever anger they'd been harbouring about her making a deal with Entwhistle, they'd let it go.

How could they not?

Without the layering of her prison-issue clothing and underneath the magic and the bravado and the Gryffindor stubbornness, she was just a little witch. Skinny to the point of frailty and weak despite the recent meals and revitalising potions, she was currently very far from being some luscious or desirable witch. She was a far cry from being strong enough to really wrestle anyone off her, should they be granted permission to bathe alongside her and try something. Except for the loose control she had on a little wandless magic, Hermione couldn't have fought any of the men off, and she knew it.

Clearly, they all knew it too, and Hermione was surprised as she traversed the long walk to see that all of them looked pitying and a little more like they understood the deal she'd made with Entwhistle. She'd expected that seeing her so vulnerable would make them think it would be that much easier to do as they wanted with her, but none of them said a word and none of them looked like they revelled in her state.

Inside the open bathing chamber at the end of the corridor, tucked just far enough around the corner to afford her the tiniest bit of privacy from the prying eyes of her fellow prisoners, Hermione breathed out a heavy sigh.

"Be quick about it, Granger," Proudfoot urged her quietly, standing with his back to the shower, essentially guarding the door. "Storm's coming, and there'll be a change of the guard up here when it hits. They need me to help with the fortification on the lower levels. Entwhistle won't be back for a while, but the quicker you are, the less chance you'll have to deal with him, eh?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows even as she gingerly wriggled out of her knickers and her bra, setting both aside at the door by Proudfoot's feet. She didn't bother asking him about how he'd managed to convince his fellow Auror to leave him on the upper level to shower her when it had been clear earlier that Entwhistle meant to be the one doing the honours.

Not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, Hermione turned the taps on, and danced from foot to foot as he waited for the hot water to come cascading through the pipes. Hot was something of an overstatement, but it was at least lukewarm and Hermione had long since learned not to quibble over details. The alternative was icy cold water fresh in from the turbulent sea, so she'd take what she could get. She shivered as she bathed, being as quick about it as she could, starting with her wildly curly hair, hanging in such short, tight ringlets after Madame Pomfrey's had cut it because it had been so matted and neglected.

"Hurry, girl," Proudfoot said over his shoulder a few minutes later.

Thunder had begun to rumble, and the entire room lit up when lightning struck brightly, blinding her in the gloom of the bathroom.

Hermione hit the floor without even meaning to when her brain mistook the brilliant flash of light for a curse flung in her direction. Not that Proudfoot noticed her predicament when it seemed that many of her fellow prisoners were just as affected by the lightning.

The screaming started unexpectedly following the first crack as more and more lightning and thunder filled the skies beyond the prison. Hermione understood why it was Proudfoot had been telling her to hurry when she found herself curling into a tight ball against the wall of the shower, shivering and wide-eyed. Her hands groped uselessly for her wand despite her nudity and Hermione whimpered when she found herself without it.

Proudfoot looked over his shoulder then, though because he'd heard the sound she'd made or because he meant to hurry her again, Hermione didn't know. His brow furrowed into a fierce frown when he spotted the state she was in; crouching against the wall, curled in on herself, dripping wet and naked, she was sure she must look a sight.

"Oh, bloody hell," he muttered, and Hermione cringed away from him when he hurried across the bathroom and quickly turned off the tap of the shower before reaching for her.

"Don't touch me!" Hermione whispered harshly, her eyes fixed on him as he made to reach for her.

"I've got to get you back to your cell, Granger. Got to get you dry, too, before you catch your death in this wretched place," Proudfoot told her. "Don't look at me like that, kid. I'm going to hurt you."

Rationally, Hermione knew that, but the next vicious crack of lightning that she felt sure must've struck the building, the impact resounding so heavily, drew an unexpected scream from her lips and Hermione knew she was in danger of losing herself to the fear and the effects of PTSD right there in the bathroom. When she didn't move to dry herself or to help Proudfoot return her to her cell, he cursed before hitting her with a Stunning spell, no further questions asked.

Hermione slumped to the ground, unconscious.

"Bloody witch," Proudfoot grumbled, flicking his wand to dry her off as best he could before he scooped the frail young woman into his arms, cradling her scarred body as best he could and doing what little was possible to save her dignity as he carried her out of the bathroom.

Not that the rest of the inmates were in much better shape than she was, and certainly weren't in any state to be perving on her. The war had fucked them all over, this lot more than most given their proximity to the heart of the final battle. These had been the kids on the frontline, Proudfoot knew, and a part of him felt shame to know that despite his extensive training and his many years as an Auror, it had been teenagers from amid the Order who had born the brunt of the attack and them that had resorted to guerrilla warfare and offensive tactics to fight back the enemy. What was more, even some of the Death Eater scumbags had been dragged into the fighting through no fault of their own.

The Malfoy kid, and the boy of Nott had both only taken the mark as a result of tradition, legacy, and their father's failings. Even Lestrange and Rowle had been roped into it by family members. Rabastan had surely been pressured and led by his elder brother, Rodolphus, and Rowle's father had been in the thick of the Darkest crowds when Proudfoot had been just a rookie, himself.

He wasn't surprised to see that of all the prisoners on his cell block, only two remained stoic in the midst of the storm, unaffected and steadfast in their silent vigil as the skies split open with a feral crack and the sleet, hail, and driving wind ripped through the prison with the ferocity of an avenging titan. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood in the middle of his cell, far enough out of reach of the rain driving in through his cell window to avoid getting wet, but close enough to watch the wild seas rage and roll.

 _No PTSD there_ , Proudfoot thought, and he loathed that there was a part of him that was proud of the lad he'd had the pleasure of training, once upon a time. Aye, the lad had been bomb-proofed, but none of his fellow Order members had been given the privilege.

"What've you done to her?" a thick voice demanded as Percival Proudfoot hurried down the row and back into Granger's cell cradling the young witch in his arms.

Proudfoot turned to see the only other unrattlable bastard in the joint.

Antonin Dolohov.

He didn't flinch at the next blinding flash of lightning, and he never took his eyes off of Granger as Percival slotted her onto her narrow cot and flung the blankets over her. He never did. Even when Proudfoot had been a rookie and had once inspected this wretched prison while it was under the guard of the Dementors, Dolohov had never seemed affected by the storms, the creatures, or the cold. Whether it was an abundance of self-control, a lifetime delving into things much scarier, or just desensitisation, Proudfoot didn't know or care.

"Stunned her," Percival admitted. "She was getting hysterical with the storm. Reckon she's got the likes of you and your buddies to thank for that."

Dolohov didn't say anything, and he didn't jump when the next crack of lightning drew a scream from the lad of Finnigan from the cell behind him. He simply stood there and stared. Proudfoot narrowed his eyes, making a mental note to keep an eye on the little witch and to do what he could to get her away from this wretch, obsessed bastard who seemed so fixated upon her.

He'd have to talk to Poppy.

She would know what to do. Carefully tucking the Granger girl under her covers, he straightened and summoned her towel and her undergarments from the bathroom where they'd been forgotten before he backed out of her cell and locked it tightly behind him. He could do nothing for the screamers, and nothing to desist Lestrange's manic laughter that poured from the next cell as the storm raged ever onward, all of them proving they were more than a little cracked and that if they weren't locked up here, it'd be a padded cell at St Mungo's for the lot of them, instead.

Knowing he was needed elsewhere, Pervcival Proudfoot strode away down the cell-block and entered the lift, secure in the knowledge that though they might all be screaming, cowering, or cackling in hysteria, at least they were safe and in no danger of escaping. He left them all there to help his fellow Aurors on the lower levels, thinking to himself that, murderer of that wretched Umbridge woman or not, there was no way he could allow the girl of Granger to remain in this hole.

No way in hell.


End file.
